Sudden Supremacy
by A Very Thirsty Megalomaniac
Summary: The UED is here. Magnificent and relentless, they march forward in defiance of the watching darkness. On the edges, the only person with both the knowledge and means to stop what's coming remains wracked with doubt, at war with her nature. Jim Raynor, meanwhile, struggles onward in a galaxy that has outgrown him. Sequel to Sudden Contact. Complete.
1. Protectors of Humanity

**Zaeed**

"Figures it'd be pissing down the day they decide to let us in," growled Zaeed to his new batarian driver – some dumbshit new recruit that was terrified of him. Zaeed wasn't sure where Vido kept digging up people like this idiot, but someone had to drive the trucks.

"Yes, sir," said the batarian after Zaeed stared at him for a few seconds. His four eyes remained locked on the road, and Zaeed was surprised the poor bastard hadn't lowered the visor on his power armor. _You can't even bloody look at me, and it's not like there's anyone else on this road. What do you need your peripherals for?_

They had landed outside of Constant, Eden Prime's capital, at the request of the town's administrator, Harriet Chen. The ITSA still wasn't sure what had happened to her outer colonies, but they suspected pirates, and that meant Blue Suns ships would not be welcome in their main city. _Morons can't tell the difference between pirates and professionals._ So, Zaeed had grabbed the most anxious merc he could find and ordered him to drive a truck to Constant. Now, with the roads slick with falling rain, Zaeed wished he had picked someone less pliable and better at driving. Apparently, possessing four eyes did not disqualify a sapient from being a shit driver.

"You sure we're going the right way, sir?" asked the batarian. _Poor baby. Almost sounds like he's about to goddamn cry asking me a question._

"Keep following the grain rail," said Zaeed, watching the rail zip by in the dark with almost no interest. "All the food ends up in the cities, sooner or later. And try not to hit another sign, shit for brains."

The batarian made no response, but when Zaeed looked back to his hulking form, he saw the telltale flicker of the batarian's upper eyes shifting away. _Won't look at me if he knows I'm paying attention. Christ, hope I don't end up in a firefight with this guy on my side. Probably just wet himself and curl up in a goddamn corner._

Zaeed winked, causing his suit displays to shine into his face. He checked each system once and then winked again, letting the closest thing to entertainment fade away once more. He craned his neck forward and looked out the front window. _Mud. Entire planet of goddamn mud._ The sky was dark, illuminated only by the occasional harsh flash of light in the distance. Deep rumbling could be heard, making Zaeed's gut twist from the reverberations. As they rounded another corner, water could be heard crashing in great waves to either side of the vehicle. _It's a sodding monsoon. Glad I brought the suit._

"Road sign – couldn't see how many miles, but it looked like single digits," said the batarian, still nervous. "And uh, I didn't hit it. Sir."

"Good on you," replied Zaeed, stretching his legs from inside the suit. _This visor is going straight down when I get out of the truck._ _Hopefully, that bitch Harriet will recognize the sound of my pretty voice and refrain from having her hick goons shoot the pair of us._

The windshield wipers went back and forth with a steady _ker-chunk_ , sheets of water shifted aside ceaselessly as the rain continued crashing down. Heat blew in from the front of the car, and Zaeed found himself turning his head in its direction, trying to catch a bit of that warmth.

"Four miles," said the batarian with unfamiliar confidence. "Got a good look. We're almost there."

"Alright, good," said Zaeed, straightening and rubbing his armored hands. "Let's get this over with. If I can nail a contract this deep in Council space, it'll be a bloody coup."

"Yes, sir," said the batarian. Zaeed ignored him, focusing instead on the distant lights of Constant. _Bloody hick town. 'Cept for Chen, from what I can tell. That woman had some kind of education._ He sniffed. _At those rates, it probably wasn't in anything financial. Let's try for something a little less insulting, alright darling?_

Normally, Zaeed would have let nonsense like this to Vido, who actually had a head for this kind of thing and was somewhat less prone to pissing people off. _But Raynor wanted someone who he didn't want to shoot on sight, and we weren't about to turn down a deal that lucrative. Wonder who the hell that prisoner is? Took a bloody fortune to get him on Purgatory._

The wipers went back and forth while Zaeed brooded on his upcoming meeting with Constant's administrator. _Wasn't here in the initial wave, can tell you that bloody much. Did Mar Sara even have schools? Might be from Umoja. Got that snooty, holier-than-thou attitude._ He sniffed again. _Not that it's hard to find people like that in the ITSA either. Privileged twats._

The truck slid to an uncertain halt at the first checkpoint outside the city. To Zaeed's surprise, the barricades lifted without anyone coming out to see who it is. _Well, I guess it's not like anyone's going to roll up in a damn truck and cause some damage, right? They know we're coming, anyway._

The truck scooted forward, struggling to maintain traction on the badly kept roads. They were now in Constant proper, surrounded by the darkened silhouettes of countless terran structures. From what Zaeed could see, they looked pretty weathered. _Probably some of the first buildings set up on this place. What little history the ITSA has, it's here._

The batarian, to Zaeed's surprise, didn't need further instructions, apparently recalling the directions from earlier. He made an easy right, passing by another shrouded vehicle in the process. _Goddamn. Thank Christ he didn't hit that, too._

"There it is," said Zaeed, pointing a gauntleted finger at the statue now looming over a square to their left. "Fucking Donnelly Memorial Statue, or whatever she said it was. Pull up alongside it." Thunder boomed again overhead, making Zaeed's stomach lurch. _Great. They better get me indoors quick – not a fan of standing around in a goddamn thunderstorm while wearing a metal suit._

The truck ground to a halt. Zaeed slid the visor down and threw the door open, his suit shrugging off the cold blast of air. His boots hit the ground with a squelch, and he rounded on the driver.

"Find somewhere dry close by and wait for me," Zaeed bellowed. "Not too many trucks of that size about, shouldn't have trouble pickin' you out, even in the dark. You got me?"

"Yes, sir!" said the batarian, his helmet clanging as he saluted.

"You're doin' good," said Zaeed, flashing a thumbs up to the astonished batarian. _What? We were all young once. Being a hardass isn't going to help._ "Get me back to the ship in one piece, and I might even bother to learn your goddamn name!" Zaeed pushed the door shut and heard it click. He banged on the side once and the truck roared into life, scooting around a corner and out of sight. Zaeed was left standing in the rain, the rain pinging off his suit and making the armor rattle.

"Oi!" he called out. "It's Zaeed Massani, Blue Suns! Lookin' for Harriet Chen!" There was no immediate response, so he grunted and turned his suit's lights on. The high intensity beams cut through the darkness easily, and Zaeed turned slowly, trying to figure out if the command center was close by. To his relief, it was. _Woman, we're going to have words about this. Tell me to meet you here and then didn't even bother to show up…_ With a sigh, Zaeed shuffled through the mud and rain towards the enormous and dimly lit building to the south.

Two marines flanked either side of the command center entrance, and Zaeed felt slightly disgusted as they didn't even bother training their guns on him as they approached. _Goddamn. People get soft outside the real parts of the galaxy. If these fucks were Blue Suns, I'd fire 'em on the spot._

It was only when Zaeed was standing directly before the two of them that they finally gave him any real attention.

"Who the hell are you? That ain't ITSA armor!" said the one on a left, a woman with a penchant for the obvious.

"Blue Suns!" screamed Zaeed back, trying to suppress a curse as thunder clapped overhead. _I take it back. These fuckers are brave to be standing out here like this in full armor._ "I was to meet with Chen, the administrator! Where the hell is she?"

"Inside," said the man on the right, jerking a thumb back. "We'll let you in, but watch yourself. Don't take kindly to mercs out here."

 _Yeah, well you better readjust. We're about to become a lot more common._

The command center's doors opened with a scream, and Zaeed trudged his way through, making sure to scrape his boots as violently as possible on the command center's threshold. He could _feel_ the dirty looks the marines gave him from behind.

The command center was surprisingly full. Once Zaeed had entered the main corridor, it was to find people shoving past each other, calling out, all rushing, all urgent. His heart began to beat a little faster. _Maybe floodwater's causing some problems? Some hick family stuck out in the boonies, clinging to a tree while their house disappears on the horizon?_ Zaeed ignored the commotion, moving instead for the stairs. The people didn't pay him much mind either.

The administrator's office was likewise packed, but Zaeed cleared the way easily with a mix of his voice and the gentle nudging of his massive boot. Chen's office door slid open, and Zaeed tromped through, visor sliding open to reveal his impressive glower. From her desk, Harriet Chen glared back.

"Just get them back up and running," she snapped at the frantic looking technician before her, sending him scampering. Harriet clasped her hands before her and gave Zaeed a cool look. "Mr. Massani. I'm sorry I could not meet you out at the square – we're having some difficulties. I hope you were not too badly inconvenienced."

"Since I'm gonna be drippin' all this goddamn rainwater on your carpet, I figure we're even," said Zaeed, marching forward as the aforementioned rainwater glistened and fell in little droplets. Chen's expression hardened. "Now – we gonna get to business?"

"Again, I must express my displeasure and disbelief that you opted to come in lieu of Santiago," said Harriet, wrinkling her nose. "The ITSA has had bad experiences with mercenaries in the past, and you… you're about what we would expect such pirates and slavers to look and act like, Mr. Massani. Was it really necessary to bring the suit and gun?"

"Goddamn right it was," replied Zaeed, eyeing the chair in front of her desk and wondering if he should sit down on it. No way in hell it would support the suit's weight, but that was rather the point. "Seen too many deals go bad not to bring 'em. Plus, weather's bad."

"Logical," said Chen, offering a tight-lipped smile. "I gather by your presence that the offered fees were unattractive?"

"They were insulting," growled Zaeed. "You couldn't hire Blood Pack dregs with that amount. Blue Suns are professional. We're numerous. We're deadly. We are the best mercenary force you are like to encounter, Ms.-"

"Mrs.," corrected Chen, making Zaeed give a small start.

"…Mrs. Chen," finished Zaeed. "We're the reason the Santiagos became a big name. We've got a bloody biotic division these days. Eezo boosted CMC armor. We even bring our own AA guns. It's not just barely controlled infantry, like the Blood Pack."

"The Blood Pack are illegal in Council space," said Chen, making Zaeed marvel at how terrans in Council space could actually afford to obey such bullshit laws. "So, that is not an especially apt comparison. We've compared your rates to Eclipse-"

"Psychos," said Zaeed dismissively, though Chen just ignored him.

"-Dynacore, and the War Pigs," said Chen. "We found your cost to be excessive."

"Dynacore are some of Hock's boys," said Zaeed. "That man doesn't flinch at hiring rapists, assuming they can fight worth a damn. Not the standards you're looking for. As for the War Pigs, most of them are resocialized Dominion sleeper agents." Zaeed tried to sound confident as he said this, because in truth he had no idea. He had heard it on a bar in Omega once, and that was good enough reason to disparage the competition.

"Be that as it may, the War Pigs have a far less checkered reputation than your Blue Suns, Mr. Massani," said Chen, eyes narrowing. "If they were based a little closer to Eden Prime, and were our need not so… pressing… they would have been our go-to. As it stands-"

"You want to rip us off and then send us packing," said Zaeed, nostrils flaring. "Fuck that. Basic rates for however long you want us, then feel free to throw us out. Anything less, and we won't be able to cover our own transportation and maintenance costs." Thunder boomed outside once more. "This fucking weather won't help with that, either."

"We can't do that," said Chen, face flushing. "What we offered is what we can afford. You can either take it and trust that we will put a good word in with a few Council races-" Zaeed was no longer listening.

"Dehark!" Zaeed bellowed into his radio. "This job's a no go. They're not negotiating. We're heading back." Soft static greeted him back. "Dehark!"

"Comms are down," said Chen, sounding somewhat smug, mostly angry. Zaeed rounded on her. "It's why we couldn't come out and greet you. We were in contact with Southbank, a town to the south of here, and it all just… cut out. It's not the storm."

Zaeed's eyes narrowed. "Some kind of equipment failure?"

"That's what we thought," said Chen, licking her lips. "At first, anyway. We haven't found anything yet."

 _Which, to me, having lived the life I've had, leaves only one likely possibility._

"I am getting the _fuck_ out of this colony," said Zaeed, storming out of the room. The command center's corridors were still packed, but now shouting could be heard echoing through the metal halls. Zaeed picked up the pace, bowling through the panicked crowds.

When he emerged back into the rain, it was to find the guards still standing there, apparently unaware of the commotion inside.

"That was quick," said the woman marine. "You in a rush?"

"Goddamn right I am!" said Zaeed, leaving them behind quickly and then swiveling in place. _The truck. Where's the goddamn truck?!_

Zaeed heard a muffled exclamation from behind him. When he looked back to the marines, it was to see the man on the right pointing to something behind him. Turning again, heart pounding in his throat, Zaeed faced the angry horizon.

"Oh for _fuck's_ sake." There, descending slow and deadly like some hypnotizing predator, was the silhouette of an enormous ship. Lightning crackled around it and through it, arcing through its massive hull and revealing its shapeless exterior. _Looks like some kind of massive spiked turd._ _Never seen anything like it._ _That's… not good._

Zaeed rounded on the marines. "Your comms are out, and you're being invaded! Hop to it, you goddamn lumps!"

Zaeed couldn't see their faces or hear their reactions, but it didn't matter. He lowered his visor and pounded dirt, searching desperately for his truck. There was no sign of it. _Fucking driver! Probably left me behind._ Zaeed looked back to the ship, just in time for the ground to rumble. _Touchdown. Great._

Klaxons began to sound through the colony, red lights flashing on many of the buildings. The howling wind, crashing rain, and rolling thunder were now accompanied by the screech of a colony under siege. Zaeed's head began to throb.

"DRIVER!" screamed Zaeed. "BLUE SUNS! IT'S ZAEED! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!"

There was no response, but Zaeed's targeting display had begun to light up. Gazing into the roaring heavens, the number of red circles doubled. _All out of range, and all airborne. What the hell…?_

Zaeed grabbed the butt of his rifle from his back and let the C16 unfold in his arms. He leveled the gun into the sky, waiting for the moment they'd come into range. He heard several heavy splatters from behind him, along with a clatter of metal. _Good. More firepower. Hope these colonists can aim worth a damn._ Whatever the things were, they would shortly be visible.

Zaeed was left with nothing but his ragged breathing, the pinging of rain, and his own heartbeat. The distance was closing. He sighed and tightened his grip on his gun. _Should have five spare mags on my person. How bad could this be? Horizon, Freedom's Progress, Terra Nova… bunch of wusses._

"Firing!" Zaeed squeezed the trigger, his gun echoing through the rain slick streets. The two marines behind him followed suit, their sharp bursts interspersing Zaeed's own. The invaders, whatever or whoever they were, fell sharply from the skies. Then, Zaeed heard a loud buzzing.

"What the-" Zaeed brought his left hand free from the gun and slapped his shoulder. His hand came away sticky with some kind of slime, and the buzzing had only grown louder. Insects, large and numerous, swarmed the night air, giving no apparent shits that it was pouring with rain. In fact, Zaeed saw, of all things, the familiar flare of barriers as the things whirred through the air, buzzing insanely.

Choosing to trust in his own thick armor, Zaeed returned his attention to the skies. The distant targets were no longer distant. In fact-

The creature dropped directly in front of the three of them, seeming to unfold as it raised itself up after the initial impact. Ten feet tall, it glared at the assembled defenders through yellow and multifaceted eyes, its insectoid head cocking in apparent interest. A dull yet thick carapace surrounded its torso and extremities, and judging from the neck bowl its head was in, the creature was likely in some sort of power armor. Zaeed wasn't having it.

Leveling his gun as best as he could with the bastard's face, Zaeed unleashed a volley of slugs upon his foe. The creature's barriers flared and it shrieked, staggering backwards while fumbling for its own weapon. The other two marines joined in, and the barriers gave way entirely, forcing the creature on its back. With a cry, Zaeed sprinted forward, planted a heavy, mud-covered boot on the creature's chest, and emptied three bursts into its torso. It fell still.

"More on the way!" said a marine, pointing. Zaeed grunted and took cover behind an alleyway, the wall denting as he pressed his body against it. The thrum of wings could just barely be heard from above. Dark forms landed across the square, and Zaeed sighted his weapon.

Whatever these things were, they were intent on moving fast. Zaeed emptied several bursts into them and fell back into the alleyway. When he reemerged, they had vanished, apparently into the command center. _Eh, alright. Not like I'm being paid for this._

Zaeed elected to move away from the main building, partly to get away from whatever these bastards were intent on, and partly to look for his goddamn truck. He tried moving slowly, realized he was in an eight foot suit, and then decided to really make tracks. The klaxons had stopped, replaced instead by the sounds of screams. But even those were going quiet.

Zaeed found out why pretty quickly. Three of them, enormous and terrifying, were dragging these massive brown pods around. Inside… _people._ They were frozen in place – Zaeed could see a few still upright, their faces frozen in terror, the rain rolling across their forcibly opened eyes. The invaders hoisted the poor frozen bastards into the pods, seemingly fixated by their task. Zaeed crept around them, only to freeze as they turned.

Zaeed swore, bringing his gun to bear quickly and letting the slugs fly. Their barriers flared and the creatures scattered, uttering vaguely chittering sounds. Zaeed, realizing there was no cover to be had, charged, hoping against hope his own barriers were as good as Vido promised.

The creatures returned fire, their guns emitting thin beams of light that sizzled as they fired. Though they were obviously having a hard time getting a lock, one still flashed across Zaeed's torso and nearly brought his barriers down instantly. _Either Vido lied, or I'm well out of my pay grade!_

Zaeed vaulted over the crumbling waist high wall two of them had hidden behind, and let rip with full auto. At close range, there wasn't much hope for either of them, and the suit made sure he didn't miss. Their punctured carcasses fell dead at his feet. Zaeed turned to his right to the last one, the one that had fried his barriers-

It was floating, glowing, _screaming_ in the air, its form twisting as it levitated by the grace of some unknown alien bullshit. With a final bellow, it stretched its limbs to their fullest extent, dropped its weapon, and turned its now glowing eyes to Zaeed.

" **We are Majesty,"** it said in a deep, reverberating voice, extending a glowing, clawed hand in Zaeed's direction, beckoning. **"You are beautiful."** _No! No! So much fucking NO!_

Zaeed lifted his C16 once more and showered the horrible flirtatious alien with slugs. With a gesture, Majesty created some glowing yellow barrier. Ripples spread across it, but the barrier remained apparently unharmed, even as Zaeed emptied burst after burst into it. Finally, the gun went click, and Zaeed reached for another belt, backpedaling frantically.

" **Your atoms will dance,"** said Majesty, dissipating the barrier with a snap of its wrist. **"Your potential is yet untapped."**

Zaeed slammed the new mag into place, resisting the urge to swear loudly as he did so. He pulled the bolt into place and leveled the gun once more, only to sight that damn barrier again. _That's the definition of insanity, right? Not gonna work. Bug out! Bug out!_

Zaeed turned and bolted, gun rattling. He grunted as something slammed into his back, stripping his barriers. He stimmed up, feeling his heart hammer in the process. The world blurred.

He wasn't sure where he was, once the stim had worn off. The rain had begun to die down, and the moist night air was now filled with gunshots and screams. _Alright. Away from the screams._ Something fell to his right with a loud bang. _A marine drop. One of mine?_

It was too much to hope for, and Zaeed knew it. The marine stood, higher than Zaeed knew was normal, and turned to face him. The visor was down, but had been shattered. A face, pinched, blue, screaming, electronics jammed into its cheeks, running down its neck, greeted Zaeed from the suit. With a desperate yell, Zaeed backpedaled, firing wildly into the creature. With a shriek, it fired back.

Slugs slammed into Zaeed's barriers once more, and judging from the readout, the bastard wasn't firing the hypersonic spikes Zaeed was used to. These things _hurt_ , and Zaeed cried out as one punched through the barrier and into his side. Painkillers and auto-sutures were quick to deploy, but Zaeed still gasped in shock. He fell behind another building, the creature's screams growing closer as he panted in wait.

The footsteps and shrieking stopped suddenly. With a soft clatter, a grenade landed at Zaeed's feet.

"God, fucking dam-" Zaeed leapt backward, sprinting as far and as fast away from that creature and its ridiculous arsenal as he could. He'd be going further back into the city in the process, but it was all to the good so long as he didn't run into anymore cyber-marines or sexually active insect bastards.

"Weapons free!" bellowed a voice to Zaeed's left, making him cease his desperate sprint. He turned and saw a group of ITSA marines, weapons blazing, shrieking all around them. _Fuck, I need a bit more firepower to get out of this._ He was starting to regret abandoning those two idiot guards at the command center.

Zaeed joined in as best as he was able, emerging from the right of both the marine squad and the insect fucks that were besieging their position. Having established a flank, it wasn't difficult to shred the opposition. _Hope these marines are feeling grateful._

"You ain't with the colony!" screamed one of them as Zaeed approached, weapon raised over his head in supplication. "I mean, thanks for the assist. Now, keep that damn visor down, they're freezin' folks with those little bugs."

"Really?" Zaeed lowered his rifle and took a place next to the squad. "Any idea what these things are?"

"Was hoping you'd tell us," said the marine, voice shaking. "Wait – you with the Blue Suns? Heard you was coming. You bring a ship?"

"Brought a ship and a bunch of mercs," said Zaeed, grimacing under the visor. "Comms are down, though. They're at the starport."

The marine swore. "There's got to be some way to get their attention!"

"Emergency flare system," said a female voice from another of the CMC suits. "We use it during the more intense lightning storms, when things go wrong. Helps communicate what's going on to the nearest settlements." She extended a finger, pointing deeper into the city. "You'll want the command center for that."

"Gives us something to do, other than waiting to die," said Zaeed. "Move it!"

He fell in behind the colonial marines, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his chest while he did so. _Fuck these things. I can stand toe to toe with Blood Pack for hours, but these fucks wing me and apparently it's too much._ His breathing was growing ragged, and Zaeed began to feel disgusted with himself. _Suck it up!_

"Bogies! Up high!" The marines were scattering, the staccato of their rifles partially deafening Zaeed, who had never more felt his age. He brought his own rifle to bear, sighted a target, and… did his best. The opposition universally had barriers, which was irritating. _So they're tougher than the Dominion._ Their weaponry cut through their own barriers easily, and Zaeed had to act far more cowardly than usual to avoid being cut in half. _So… like fighting the protoss._ The creatures also enjoyed flying in from above, usually in large numbers. _Flashing back to Thessia. Christ, like fighting the zerg as well!_ Zaeed began squinting into the stormy skies, praying that Eden Prime didn't have any orbital platforms. _Didn't see any on the way in._

They advanced slowly. The original group had been eight marines plus Zaeed himself, but that number was swiftly whittled down. The beams the insects carried burned through barriers with ease, and the CMC armor underneath, while it held up for the most part, still couldn't withstand the punishment for very long. When the four survivors plus Zaeed stumbled into Donnelly Memorial Square, it was to find it unrecognizable. Insect bastards were wheeling pods every which way, and two of the cyber marines were also in evidence.

As one, the creatures turned to them.

" **Resistance is natural,"** uttered a booming voice. Zaeed groaned as a glowing form descended from above. **"Your biology compels us. All mysteries will be expunged. Submit, for the good of the cycle."**

The marines instead scattered to available cover, most of them leaving behind a trail of blood. Zaeed unclipped a grenade, popped off the pin, pressed the tab, and chucked it at the closest cyber marine. The bang and ensuing screech made Zaeed smile grimly, hoisting his C16 and following up with seven sharp bursts. The enemy marine fell. _One down._

The colonial marines were skirting the edges, calling out to each other and laying down fire on the scattering targets. Two fired on Majesty, who blocked their attack the same way as before.

" **We are beyond your understanding,"** said Majesty, sounding, if anything, confused at the resistance. **"We mean well. Our futures are entwined."**

Zaeed followed the edge of the square opposite his allies, coming up behind Majesty. Ducking once to avoid the thin beam aimed in his direction, Zaeed lifted his weapon and fired into Majesty's back.

Majesty buckled, the barrier disappearing, its body spraying boiling blood on the pavement, on the memorial statue. It turned, burning eyes locking with Zaeed's visor.

" **We shall recall your face,"** said Majesty in a stern tone before Zaeed fired another burst. With a groan, the body floated free before dissolving entirely, leaving nothing behind. _Won't have to deal with that again. Rot in hell._

By the time Zaeed had circled around to the command center entrance, he and one other marine were the only things living in the square. And judging by the way his compatriot was bleeding, that was likely soon to change.

"You're not going to make it," said Zaeed bluntly, prompting the marine to slide down against the side of the command center. "Flare system. How do I work it?"

"Right side of the SCV assembly line, office marked "Utilities,"" said the marine, voice female… and also bubbling. _Shit._ Smoke curled from a gaping hole in her torso. _You don't have too long._ "Get help. Get air support."

"Thanks." Zaeed stormed the front of the command center, shifting his weapon both ways as he entered. _Nothing._ It was crowded before, now there was only the silence of the grave. Zaeed hurried forward as fast as he dared, trying to pay no attention to the thin trickle of blood now escaping from the small hole in his suit.

Zaeed had never worked in a command center before, but he knew the layout well enough. Turning to the left of the stairwell that would lead him up to Chen's office, he found the factory floor, so to speak, of the command center. _They probably haven't had to build SCVs in a while._ Coughing, and trying to ignore what was coming out, Zaeed stumbled into the Utilities office, vision beginning to blur. Helpfully, the "emergency storm flares" was marked in bright red. _Probably don't want any idiots to mistake it for something else._

Zaeed grabbed the lever and pulled it with one massive finger. A distant shriek rocked the command center as the flares were presumably sent skyward. _Gonna… gonna fill the night sky with these things._ He pulled the lever again… and again.

 _Once more._ With a grunt, Zaeed pulled the lever and felt it slacken. _No more flares, I guess._ Zaeed resisted the urge to sit down, choosing instead to get the hell out of the command center.

Majesty was waiting for him. Head cocked, it strode toward him, stopping only to project a barrier as Zaeed emptied the rest of his mag fruitlessly into the perverted menace.

" **Resistance is informative, but unbecoming,"** said Majesty as Zaeed's weapon went click. **"The cycle struggles. We will rectify your destiny."**

Zaeed dropped his weapon, staring the creature straight in the face as it approached. It lifted a glowing hand…

A distant crack ripped through the air. Majesty's head snapped to the right, and then Majesty disappeared under a wave of smoke and flame. Zaeed staggered back at the impact, almost falling to a knee. When the flames cleared, Majesty still lived, rising to its feet. There was another crack, and this time Zaeed remained steady. The smoke cleared, and only he remained this time.

Zaeed followed the source of the sound and the smoke trail. It terminated at his driver, who carried a massive grenade launcher, barrel still smoldering, visor down. He had found a street corner and was rocking on it, paying little attention to his boss, whom he had just saved.

"Hey!" called Zaeed. The batarian looked to him, and then resumed his thousand yard stare and continued rocking.

"Did it work?!" asked Zaeed, standing before the batarian and trying to look and sound as intimidating as before. "Where is the air support?!"

The batarian looked up again, but this time stopped, apparently transfixed. He wasn't looking at Zaeed, though. The driver lifted his free hand and pointed, his trembling finger facing the horizon.

Zaeed wheeled about slowly, certain that some kind of fresh hell was about to descend. What he saw… wasn't what he was expecting.

"What… the hell?" Up above, a terran battlecruiser hung low in the skies, obscuring the moon and stars. Zaeed thought he recognized the silhouette at first as a _Behemoth_ , but on closer inspection, saw far too many things that were off about it. _Too small, for one. And those weapons systems… I've never seen something like this._ It was subtle, though. Zaeed had spent a great deal of time either fighting while battlecruisers dueled overhead, or simply aboard them. _No goddamn amateur's gonna get that. Still… who the hell is this, and why aren't they helping us?_

The battlecruiser hung in place, not opening fire, not deploying fighters, nothing. Zaeed stared up at it, mouth fixed in a grimace, eyes unblinking. With a soft _clunk_ , spotlights emerged from the cruiser. They began to turn and swivel, scanning Constant from above. Without any warning, one of them faced Zaeed and blin-

* * *

 **Alexei**

"Admiral?"

There was that soft knocking again. Alexei groaned and pried his cheek free from his desk, wincing at the pain. _Hellish dream._ The glass of vodka from earlier remained, its contents quivering as Alexei lifted himself from the desk. He pried a mirror from a drawer and checked himself.

 _Groggy. Not great, but even Gerard is still recovering from his hypersleep._ Alexei swallowed, trying to get the vile taste out of his mouth. _Good enough._

"Enter!" said Alexei, closing the drawer and facing the entrance.

The technician entered the room, head bowed, obviously hoping that Alexei was in a favorable mood. _Get a grip, fool. You are not the source of my discomfort._

"Admiral DuGalle wants to see you on the bridge, sir," said the technician, head still bowed. "He said it is urgent, and that you should, uh, "push past me and get on the bridge immediately.""

"Done," said Alexei, shoving past the hapless technician and walking to the turbolift. He irritably hit the bridge button and scanned his ID. He took the time the brief journey gave him to pry some of the sticky gunk off his lip and flick it into the corner of the elevator. _Disgusting._

When Alexei emerged from the lift, he was not surprised to find the bridge empty of all save Gerard. Most of the crew still slept, and would remain asleep until the Koprulu Sector. Gerard and he had awakened early at the Admiralty Board's request, to be fully ready well before they had entered Dominion space. _The journey is almost done. Though… I sense we may have taken a detour._

The bridge was dark and brooding, shadows shifting in the dim light. Crackly opera music played from a vintage wooden record player, filling the bridge with soft, breathy Latin. Gerard did not turn as Alexei approached, his gaze remaining fixed on whatever was outside the viewport. Alexei sighed as he joined Gerard. _I am not in the mood for melodrama, my friend._ Gerard still said nothing. Alexei looked out the viewport and saw the shadows of some terran colony, apparently beset by hostiles. _Not us, obviously._

The outlines of gunshots and fleeing defenders could just barely be seen from where Alexei stood. Judging from the greenery (and from what Alexei knew of the flight path,) he guessed they were orbiting Eden Prime, the ITSA capital and first human settlement outside the Koprulu Sector. Alexei grunted and pulled a cigar free from his coat pocket, fumbling for his lighter with his other hand. With a click, he flicked the lighter open and brought his cigar to the naked flame. Alexei breathed deep and exhaled, smoke billowing from his nose.

"So," said Alexei, finally having had enough of the melodramatic silence, "Gerard…" His old friend did not react. "I suspect you have a good reason for pulling me away from my… duties."

"Your vodka can wait, my good Alexei," said Gerard, making Alexei roll his eyes. "Come, stand here. You need to see this."

"I do not understand what there is to see, Gerard," said Alexei, irritated. "As I recall, we had a rendezvous to make, and the ITSA are well outside of our current interests… or capabilities. This is near the heart of Council space."

"Yes. It is." Gerard shifted, sparing only the smallest of glances for Alexei. "Eden Prime is under assault."

"Pirates, I presume," said Alexei dismissively. "There are plenty of bloodthirsty warlords who would love to knock the Council down another few pegs. We've both read the dossiers a hundred-"

"You've seen nothing!" bellowed Gerard, thumping Alexei in the back in a sudden rage, causing the lit cigar to fly from his hand. "For six years… six long years, we have waited. We have watched. We have analyzed and made ready. We determined that the ITSA were impossible for any entity to attack openly without fatal reprisal. We also documented every known alien species." Gerard's voice shook, and he tapped a few keys on a nearby console. Another viewport slid open, revealing the outline of a ship. "And yet, the first thing we see is an open, enormous, and unprovoked attack on the ITSA, by an alien species we know nothing of."

Alexei stared at the ship, incredulous. The outline was enormous, and the ship was of strange make. It looked as if it were made as much of stone, or perhaps some kind of honeycomb, as much as it did metal. Gerard underscored his point by stepping firmly on to Alexei's cigar, crushing it.

"Do you recognize that ship, my good head of Special Projects?" asked Gerard, voice low. Alexei shook his head. "Where does this factor on that threat scale of yours, hmm? They bear technology we have not seen before. The race aboard that vessel are insectoid, four eyed, and have some strange form of infestation, from what I've seen. Any comments?"

"No," said Alexei. "No… my good admiral."

"I didn't think so," said Gerard, returning to where he had originally been standing. He sighed. "We went into this with such lofty ambitions. With such a firm belief that we were going into this endeavor with good intel. And yet, the universe continues to surprise us. But do you know what I see down there, Alexei?"

"No," said Alexei, mind racing. _I've never seen him like this. But then again, never before has so much been put on him._ "No, I do not. My good admiral."

"I see the clearest case for supporting human supremacy over human dominance," said Gerard, as Alexei closed his eyes, trying to suppress the images flashing across them. _Wait… what did I dream? Is this… This is not coincidence. I dearly hope those psi scores remain hidden knowledge._ Gerard continued. "This is the heart of Council space. So many different people are pledged to help this planet in the event of such catastrophe. And yet, these creatures plunder and capture freely, the only resistance being local. The heart of Council space."

"What do you mean?" asked Alexei, head beginning to throb.

Gerard grabbed Alexei's shoulder and drew the smaller man close. "I see, down there, the only two roles the aliens can ever fill in regards to humanity. Incompetent and exploitative allegiance, in the case of the Council-" Gerard's eyes flicked again to the viewport. "-or unknowable and hostile, like the invaders. They have nothing to offer us, Alexei. Down there – separated only by neosteel and some space, are alien lifeforms. They are taking what they want and killing indiscriminately. The aliens pledged to stop them are nowhere to be seen."

 _Ah._ Alexei gave a small nod. "I understand."

"Do you?" Gerard's voice was harsh. "Then understand this: our preconceptions, our well-laid plans, and the aliens we were counting on being able to predict – it all means nothing. The probes, the documents, the videos? Nothing. Down there, in the colony, that is what we must understand." Gerard released Alexei and straightened, walking to the viewport and almost pressing against it as he looked down.

"And I cannot. Will not. These aliens have no place in the human order." Gerard's voice had grown hard. "Not as allies. Not even temporarily. Not as equals. Not even enemies. They are vermin."

"Gerard…" said Alexei, prying a new cigar from his pocket. "My good admiral. I agree must full-heartedly, but open warfare against these beings… it can only end in our defeat."

"There are such things as non-military victories," said Gerard, and Alexei felt a chill down his spine. "Alternatives that we dismissed because they might threaten the coming empire's security. We have our orders. I intend to… expand upon them."

"And what happens when the Directors back home discover your… expansion?" asked Alexei.

"Then they will be forced to confront the fact that they put me in charge of the largest military force in human history," said Gerard, a quiet smile playing on his lips. The opera coming from the record player had hit some kind of bridge, and the room had grown very quiet.

"Are you prepared to go all the way with this, Alexei?" asked Gerard. It was such a quiet thing, such an innocuous thing, that question. _Someone who didn't know us, what we had been discussing… they might not think anything of it. But the two of us… oh, my good admiral. At long last, we will be unbound of any earthly responsibility. We have been given naked power, yet you were so intent upon restraining yourself, restraining me. And now…_

"Yes," breathed Alexei, staring at his cigar, and then meeting Gerard's gaze. "Yes, I am prepared to go all the way… my good admiral." The lighter went click, and the two smiled warmly at each other as Alexei brought the flame to his cigar.

"Good," said Gerard, sounding relieved. "Good… I… I knew I could count on you." The armored shutters on the viewports began to fall back in place, and the bridge in the music was poised to end. To Alexei's surprise, a voice crackled over the music.

"Admiral, those aliens look like they're ready to leave. The colonists will be gone in a matter of minutes. Shall we intervene?"

Gerard sighed and looked down. He shook his head.

"Take us into orbit, Mr. Moreau. We've seen enough."

And as the opera reached its crescendo, as Alexei brought the cigar to his lips, he felt a _raw_ abiding sense of rage and despair as _DSS Aleksander_ began to reenter orbit.

"LAS SOLDATS REVIENDRONT!" screamed the music, having transitioned to French. "ARRIVERONT VICTORIEUX!"

Alexei blew out the smoke and recalled the stark imagery of the battlecruiser obscuring the moon, of the spotlights swiveling in the sight of the mercenary, blinding him. _History will not remember to be sure._

"DONNEZ TOUT POUR… L'HONNEUR!" shrieked the music, causing Alexei to shut his eyes as Majesty's stare burned into his brain.

A hush fell on the room. Gerard crossed the bridge and deftly removed the needle, leaving nothing but the soft roar of the _Aleksander's_ engines.

* * *

 **A/N: Welcome back! I won't be doing the next character chapter thing until a little later, once most of the POVs are revealed.**

 **Feedback is very welcome, as always. The Factional Analysis will continue.**

 **This might not be very fast to update at first. I had a very clear idea of this first chapter, but the same cannot be said of the entire fic.**

 **That being said, hope you enjoyed, I'll try to keep at least one thing happening a week.**


	2. Strapped to the Saddle

**Tychus**

It was cold. Damn cold. Last he could remember, that was what he had been thinking about, too. _Damn pod sealing shut. Wait. Wait._ His eyelids, heavy and coated with frost, flickered. Like an old attic door, thick with age and rot, Tychus opened his eyes, almost expecting his lids to start creaking as they did.

 _Shit. They gonna let ol' Tychus out. Probably to stick needles in my damn brain._

Tychus drew in a deep breath, only to find he could barely manage the shallowest of gasps. The frigid air seared his lungs and pipes, making him give a pitiful half-cough. _Hurts._ He couldn't see anything. His tongue felt thick and fuzzy, and he was having a hard time moving… anything. Even his lips felt still. _Muscle atrophy. How the hell can they expect me to fight like this?_ His right index finger twitched.

Tychus was not sure how long he stood there, held in place, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim blue light. He tried to make his finger twitch again only to find that he couldn't. Tychus's heart began to beat little faster, and he took a great, wracking wheeze.

A small hiss echoed through his tiny space. Tychus blinked, forcing his eyelids to shut and open once more. He thought he could hear voices.

 _Confederate doctors, no doubt. Wonder how long I been out? Being this weak, has to have been a while. Get me out of this tube, you damn eggheads._

The tube hissed again, and this time the frosted over door slowly ground open. The back of the pod pushed forward, scooting Tychus's body towards the gap. _I ain't about to catch myself. This is gonna hurt._

Tychus passed over the edge and fell, hitting the hard floor with a painted grunt. Face down, drool streaming over his cold cheeks, a heavy boot turned Tychus over to face the bright lights above.

"Convict 626," said a distorted voice – likely through some kind of CMC suit. "Wanted for armed robbery. Piracy. Theft. Murder." _That's just the borin' stuff._ The voice had paused, as if waiting for a response. All Tychus could manage was a ragged gasp. _Barely forcin' the air in. What slack-jawed idiot designed that tube? How long have I been out?_

"Tychus Findlay," continued the voice, a slight twang creeping in, "I hereby sentence you to…" The voice paused dramatically, and what few muscles Tychus still had access to tightened in his stomach. With a heavy tread, the unseen speaker bent over Tychus, his visor glinting in the harsh light. It slid open slowly, revealing-

"…a round of drinks," said the weathered looking face inside the suit as it offered him a warm smile. "On me."

"You son of a bitch," croaked Tychus, his voice little more than a thin whisper. Jim Raynor laughed loudly and gave a short hand motion to his left. Massive hands hauled Tychus into the air and began fastening him to some kind of big ass four-legged animal… in power armor. _We strapping cattle into suits now? What the hell is goin' on?_

"Now, a lot of things have changed, man," said Jim, now coming up roughly to Tychus's face in the armor. "It's gonna take a fair bit of explainin'. Firstly it's been eleven years." _Jesus Christ._ Tychus's face twitched, and Jim crinkled his eyes in apparent sympathy. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. Took a while to make this happen. Good news is, Confederacy's gone. Your criminal record's been wiped away. Ancient history."

 _Well, that's a plus._ It was hard to focus on that, though. _Eleven goddamn years? And no one thought to let ol' Tychus get a bit of damn exercise, maybe read a newspaper? Fuck._

"Xeltan, he feel secure?" Jim was talking to whatever the hell draft animal he had seen fit to dress in power armor. To Tychus's shock, his impromptu mount rumbled as it gave a deep, halting response. Tychus didn't understand a word of it, though.

"Good," said Jim, clapping a hand on the beast's armor. The massive creature began to move, Tychus strapped securely to its top.

"What ith?" Tychus weakly spat on the side of his ride, trying to get the words out. Jim drew alongside him. "What I ride?"

"Lot of explanation," said Jim, sounding weary. "There's alien life out here, Tychus. You're riding on top of it." _Right. You strapped a cart horse in power armor and played some gibberish recording. How long you planned this out?_

"Bu… bul… bulthit," mumbled Tychus, eyes straining as they tried to track Jim's movement. Jim just smiled again.

"Declan, my old buddy here, he says he don't believe in aliens," said Jim, sidling away from Tychus. Another suit of power armor loomed over Tychus. This time, when the visor went down, Tychus did not recognize the person inside. He did not recognize the person at _all._

The _thing_ grinned widely at the now struggling human before him, needlelike teeth glinting, both sets of eyes fixed on Tychus. It had no hair, but its skin ( _these things have skin?_ ) had some kind of pattern to it. The _thing_ , to Tychus's astonishment, blew what was unmistakably a kiss and then sauntered out of sight, behind the alien Tychus was apparently strapped to. A high pitched whine escaped Tychus's lips, prompting another laugh from the reappearing Jim.

"Would you believe that they ain't the scary ones?" asked Jim, jerking a thumb first backwards towards Four Eyes, then gesturing to Horse Bastard. "Plenty worse out here." Jim's eyes suddenly took on a far-away look. "Plenty worse…"

"Hmmmm," said Tychus, trying to speak even as his lips failed to move. Jim just looked at his old friend pityingly.

"Don't worry, man," said Jim, almost patting Tychus before realizing he was still in a suit and quickly thinking better of it, "got a doc on board my ship. She's got drugs and a bunch of exercises for you to do. You'll be a monster of a man again before you know it."

 _Well, that's reassuring. She an alien, too?_

Tychus's eyes had begun to focus better, and now he could get a decent idea of where the hell he was. His ears registered the faint hum of a ship's engines, and the surroundings were metallic and grey. _Folsom? No… different, I think. Smaller ship._

"The government that replaced the Confederacy is the Dominion," said Jim, drawing back Tychus's attention. "They ain't nice folk, and they were the ones who got your custody. They took one look at your rap sheet and decided against resocializing you. Not worth the hassle."

 _Damn right. I'd break their little necks._ All that came out was a faint grunt.

"Dominion ain't the most popular people these days," said Jim, offering a nod to a blue armored passerby with a strange shaped head, "but they don't usually turn down generous sums of money. Managed to get you transferred here – Blue Suns prison ship. Called the _Purgatory_ , fittingly enough."

A door hissed open, and Tychus's nose almost scratched the threshold on the way in. Their party appeared to consist of himself, Declan, Jim, Xeltan, and one other power suited fellow who looked human enough. _Probably ain't safe to make no assumptions._ His eyes tracked Jim in the dim lighting, noting the changes to the armor. _Shimmerin' a bit, I think. Could just be my eyes. Looks like they strapped on a few extra plates, as well. CMCs have gotten bigger in the last decade._

"How… much?" asked Tychus. Jim just shrugged.

"Less than you'd probably say you're worth, more than just anyone would be willin' to pay. But to me? Not that much. Not considerin' what I owe you." Jim sighed. "Sorry it took so long. Plenty of shit's different now. We – that is, this ship – ain't even in the Koprulu Sector right now. Galaxy's opened up. And I got to see it all… because of you."

 _Aww. That's real sweet, Jimmy._ Tychus licked his lips and tried to ignore the strain of doing so. _Even if this does feel like a living death. How the hell am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of men if I can't even give 'em the middle finger?_

The Horse Bastard, Xeltan, made some more noises from beneath Tychus. Jim nodded.

"Alright, boys. Checkpoint ahead. The deal was with Zaeed, but Vido's the one managing it. There's a reason we didn't relinquish our guns. Keep it polite, but dangerous. Keep it smooth." Jim's visor slid down and he stopped before Tychus one more time. "We're workin' with mercenaries to get you out. They ain't trustworthy, but I am. We'll keep you safe, don't worry."

Tychus mumbled something back. Even he wasn't sure what the words would have been.

The small group of assorted aliens marched into a larger, open area. It was well lit, and Tychus could see numerous blue armored mercenaries of all shapes and sizes. The only consistency he could see was that they all had two legs. _Bipedal, right?_ He couldn't remember.

"He's in about the best condition we could ask for," said Jim loudly to people Tychus couldn't see. "Gotta thank you for diggin' him up. It's a borin' galaxy without Tychus Findlay up and about."

The voice that answered back had a strange _flang_ to it, as if the vocal cords echoed on themselves or some shit. Whatever was being said, Tychus didn't understand it.

"Is that right?" asked Jim, steel now setting into his voice. Xeltan shifted underneath Tychus, whose stomach muscles began to clench once more. "Don't give me that "regret to inform you" bullshit. Vido's sellin' us out. Better have a good reason, 'cause I'm gonna make damn sure it's gonna cost him."

The response was harsh and guttural, sounding more like the screams of some kind of lizard than any kind of intelligent life. Tychus gritted his teeth as hard as he could… which wasn't hard at all.

"Knew this stunk from the moment the Santiagos took over," said Jim, now just barely visible at the corner of Tychus's eye. "Kuril, you do this, this entire ship goes up in flames. You know that, r-"

With a bang followed by several shrieked curses, the checkpoint exploded in gunfire. Tychus suppressed a yelp as enormous twin guns on either side of him erupted from Xeltan's armor. Everyone was yelling, the noise echoing horribly in the tight spaces, filling the quiet in between the gunshots with a guttural cacophony. Tychus's own frantic gasps were completely drowned out. He did catch Xeltan saying something, but it was untranslated, and quickly silenced by his guns going off.

The recoil must have been tremendous, but Xeltan hardly shifted as the chainguns roared, steam pouring from them in a great torrent. The yells of men giving out orders changed to frenzied screams of pain as Xeltan shifted in place, no doubt painting the room all kinds of interesting colors. _Different colors of blood, right? Can't wait to see it._

"Trome! Declan! Push up! I'll cover you!" Jim was shouting over the now raging alarm of the prison ship, a klaxon call for all the idiots to come test themselves against the chainguns. The probable human and Needlemouth advanced to the far end of the room, outside of Tychus's view. Jim, clutching a fucking enormous rifle, sidled up to Tychus.

"So, Santiago's decided to collect on a bounty," said Jim, tone casual, but eyes alive with a mix of fear and anger. "Leader of the Dominion, Arcturus Mengsk – Sons of Korhal guy. Remember him?" Jim didn't wait for Tychus to respond. "Yeah, he's got a bit of a hate on for me. Enough that he's willin' to pay his worst enemies for my head. So, we, uh, got a bit of a problem. Just… try to stay still. Xeltan's got you."

Xeltan rumbled again, doubtless some kind of bovine affirmative. Jim sighted his weapon and moved out of Tychus's line of vision. _Haven't felt this damn helpless since… damn, since I was about eleven._ Tychus tried to focus on some part of himself that he could move consistently, settling on his leftmost big toe. _Wiggle your big toe. C'mon, you goddamn sack of shit. They didn't wake you up just to carry you around._

"Barriers are holding!" cried another voice in English – Trome appeared to be a man. "Jim, pick off the leaders and we'll advance. Can you get ahold of _Norad II_?"

"They sealed off the bulkheads and are watchin' the fireworks!" yelled Jim back. "They're sendin' in firebats, keep your distance!"

Xeltan was moving forward steadily, and Tychus could not help but feel as if he had become little more than another layer of armor for the alien to carry. _Shit. When I used to ride on the sides of siege tanks, what did the pilots call me? Applique armor? And this time, ol' Tychus don't even have a suit._

Xeltan plodded onward, stopping only to let the chainguns whir up and presumably eviscerate a few more fools. Another flanging alien, maybe the same one from before, was screaming something over the intercom. As Xeltan passed the door threshold, Tychus's face dangled past Trome, who gave him a thumbs up as he went by. _Right. Makes me feel much better. Idiot._ Once Xeltan had lumbered through, Trome was quick to advance again, easily passing Tychus's plodding murder machine of a mount.

"Swann, Horner, you read me?" Jim had patched into his ship, or had taken up being a medium for ghosts. Tychus was inclined to believe the former. "Can't get these doors open – idiot warden set up a lockdown and these things look thick. Got any suggestions?" Tychus grunted, trying to lean closer to hear the response, but only succeeding in feeling like he was about to pop a blood vessel. The response sounded human, at least. " _All_ of them? Well… I did say this ship would go up in flames." Jim's voice had taken on a sadistic glee that Tychus had never heard him use before.

"Change of plans, people. Head right!" Xeltan turned to follow Jim, and Tychus's head almost collapsed against one of the steaming chainguns. _Watch it! Guns'll melt my damn face off. You can't ruin my best feature._ He gave a whimper of protest, wishing it were instead a tirade of filthy swear words. _I'll get my vocabulary back, then my muscles. It's fucking ridiculous – can't even hurt people with words right now._

More shouts rang through the halls, some of them human. _Guess these Blue Suns got proper people in them, too._ Tychus caught snatches of something like, "keep them back from…" but his ears hurt, and all of his attention was focused on trying not to accidentally get shifted any closer to the raging chainguns. He wasn't sure how much work they were doing, but every time they stopped firing, the shouting from the other side had stopped.

"Advance! There's the office!" Trome was shouting, and the gunfire had nearly ceased. Tychus used one of Xeltan's jounces to maneuver his head to face the action. The long hallways had terminated in some large office that had been painted a mix of red, blue, and green. _Hell. Knew they had different colored blood._ _Makes a pretty sight._ Tychus spat lightly, mostly succeeding in only a sending thin trail of drool from his mouth. _Makes me wonder if I'm dreamin'… but even in the worst nightmares, I could still move my damn big toe._ The digit was still frozen.

"I would question whether this is the correct thing to do, Mr. Raynor," said Trome to Jim, who was tapping away at a console's glowing interface. "While doubtless there are some below who were unworthy of such a fate, I am guessing the vast majority of these prisoners are-"

"Free," said Jim with a final smart tap. The clang of steel filled Tychus's ears, echoing through the ship. "Teach the Blue Suns to fuck with the Raiders."

The klaxon graduated to a series of piercing alarms, and now gunshots could be heard everywhere. Xeltan neighed (or whatever the fuck he did when he spoke,) bucking Tychus slightly in place.

"Nah, didn't open the doors behind us," said Jim, stepping away from the console and motioning for the rest to follow, "but it should have cleared us a path through this prison block."

"That should have been a last resort, Mr. Raynor," said Trome, who nevertheless followed. Declan just seemed amused at this, offering something harsh and guttural that might have been a laugh.

"What can I say? They pissed me off." Jim didn't sound remotely concerned. "Let's see if we can't frag the warden on the way out and piss on his corpse. Move." _Damn. Jimmy's gotten a bit harder over the years._ Part of Tychus was proud, and all the other parts just wanted a stiff drink.

A distant _boom_ shook the walls, and Tychus felt Xeltan stagger at the sudden shock.

"The hell was that?" asked Jim, likely voicing the thoughts of everyone present. "Came from up ahead. Move it!"

Tychus didn't get a chance to see what the rest of 'em were marveling at first; it was only when Xeltan lumbered through the corridor and into the main prison area that he got a bit of an idea at the destruction they had missed.

"Whoever was down here was rippin' steel doors from their hinges and cuttin' power armored turians in half," said Jim. "Let's uh, be careful. Might be a krogan battlemaster, we don't need to get in his way."

The intercom was blaring with flanging again, and Tychus heard Jim give a snort. _Guessin' you pissed the warden right off, Jimmy. Sounds like the poor man was just tryin' to do his job._ His wandering eyes got a glimpse of the blue pile of gore that was once one of the prison guards stationed in this area. _Well, that don't do much for Tychus's morale. Looks like I wasn't even the toughest bastard to get housed down here._

"Declan, Trome, don't get too far ahead of Xeltan!" said Jim. "We run into that battlemaster, he might be our only shot at avoidin' bein' used as new wallpaper. Xeltan, Tychus still strapped on alright?" Xeltan made more noises. Tychus had no idea what they meant, though. _Gotta get me a translator and a beer. No preference what comes first, but they both better be comin'._

There was more shouting and gunshots. Tychus banged his head against the side of the armor four times, each time confusing him further. His nose glanced the barrel of one of the chainguns. Searing pain crept across the bridge, and he could see the bubbling patch of flesh that had stuck to the weapon. His weak and gurgled cries went unnoticed… but he did finally wiggle his big toe.

Jim's rifle made a very loud and distinctive _crack_ every time it was fired, while his two associates were equipped with what seemed to be standard gauss rifles. The chatter of the weapons was familiar enough to Tychus, even if it didn't bring back fond memories. _Fuck the Confederacy. Corrupt bunch of shits. Glad it's gone._ Declan also seemed fond of explosives, if the constant bangs and Jim's admonishment to "tone the grenade throwin' down" were any indication. _Makes me want in on the action. He has his own ship. Confederacy's gone. Got a loyal crew he can trust… hell, Jimmy. I might just owe_ you _one when this is done. You didn't just give Tychus his life back, you brought me a new one altogether._

When Jim held back for a moment to check on his old buddy, Tychus tried to speak, but couldn't get any words out. Ears ringing from the noise, eyes still blurring from the pain of getting burned and banged about, all he could manage were soft, almost puppylike sounds. _Fuckin' disgusting._ Jim just seemed pleased to see he hadn't been shot and moved off. Tychus, recovering, took the time to note that their surroundings had become distinctly more hellish. Open flames roared everywhere, and the air was thick with smoke. _Naked fire on a spaceship. Limited oxygen. Get me the hell outta here, Jimmy!_ His breathing, already labored, turned back into outright gasps. No one noticed.

"I don't think a krogan battlemaster could have done this, Mr. Raynor," said Trome. "Nor do I think a battlemaster would go by the name of "Jack." I think we may have made a mistake."

"Not we, Trome. Just me." Jim sounded worried. "Well, we don't bear Jack no ill will, whoever he is. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Judging from the number of bodies, I am left disinclined to believe Jack is the understanding type," said Trome. "At least he is making our job easier… for now, at least."

The small group continued their relentless advance. Xeltan himself was hit a few times, though the attacks seemed to be deflected by some kind of barrier projected by the suit. _Fortunate that I'm under it, I guess. Makes me feel less like armor._ The flanging over the intercom was now nonstop, making Tychus's head hurt. _Sounds like the warden's not very happy._

"So, do you think Massani authorized this?" asked Trome.

"Like hell he did," replied Jim. "The man's scum, but he don't put greed ahead of common sense… or hate. And if there's one thing Zaeed hates, it's the Dominion."

"Didn't he work for them once?" asked Trome.

"That was before all them border disputes; he had family on Kalem-VI," said Jim shortly, leaving Tychus to wonder just what the hell had happened in his frozen interim. _Ain't that a KMC world? Guessin' the Dominion don't play nice neither._

Tychus could now consistently wiggle his big toe. _Shouldn't feel like such a dang accomplishment while Xeltan's painting the walls with Blue Suns blood… but it does._ Xeltan was still plodding along, stopping only to turn a few more enemies into paste. From what Tychus could see of the remains afterward, it looked like some of the prisoners had joined in on the ruckus. _Idiots. Run for the damn exits, shank a guard if you have to, but don't get near ponyboy here. He's a livin' avatar of death. They should strap a damn Arclite to his back._

"Almost out!" called back Jim. "I definitely remember lookin' at this bit from the catwalk!" _Well, that's reassurin'. Let's hope Jack got fragged by a guard, or we're likely to meet him at the exit._ "Tychus, if you're okay, don't say anything!" _Real cute, partner._

They had moved from one massive prison area to another. Jim's rifle went off again and again while Xeltan's chainguns rattled. This time, the racket did not subside when they stopped firing. _Sounds like a hell of a riot._

A new weapon emerged from Xeltan's armor, this one protruding from the creature's side. It thumped, sending a smoking projectile out of Tychus's sight. A sharp _bang_ followed its exodus. _Of course. Give the thing a grenade launcher. Thank God it's on your side, Jimmy._

Tychus decided to tear his attention away from the life-threatening action he could do nothing about, in favor of trying to wiggle something else. _My right index finger feels likely._ It twitched, and Tychus would have grinned, had he the strength to do so. Xeltan plodded onward, and Jim declared it their little excursion to be nearing its end. _Thank Christ. Now, this doctor, she human? She hot?_

Xeltan was now carrying Tychus up a ramp, and Tychus swore he could feel the g-forces pulling him down, could swear he was slipping. It must have been his imagination though, because when they reached the top, he felt snug and safe (sort of) once more. _Glad to see my imagination's still active… in the least helpful way._ The gunshots were dying down, but the alarms had become even more frantic. Tychus suspected that the ship was bound for the nearest planetary body, once they were done. _Engine's and life support likely failin'. If they got escape pods, this is the time to shank your way to 'em._

They stopped suddenly. Jim's gun was trained past the threshold of what Tychus hoped was the final door, and Xeltan's guns were fixed on the same.

"Great," said a female voice, angry yet in control, "if it isn't more people to kill."

"We ain't after you, miss…?" Jim, in contrast, sounded confused and a bit afraid. Tychus tried to turn his head, and managed to loll it around.

At the final bulkhead stood a small woman, dressed in the orange of prison clothes. Her bald head was decked in tattoos ( _great, not only am I not the most dangerous, I don't even have the best tats in this place_ ) and her hand was outstretched. Before her was a blue armored… bird man? Tychus couldn't be sure. Regardless, he was being held in place by the woman, levitating about a foot up in the air. A massive gun levitated next to him, pointed carelessly at the people at the entrance. _If she's a ghost, she's the scariest fuckin' ghost I ever laid eyes on. Shit. Never seen nothin' like that._

"Jack," she said, barely interested. The gun jerked towards the bird man. "Shitlord warden here says he can't get through this bulkhead for me, that the battlecruiser's crew sealed it off. You with that cruiser?"

"We're with the cruiser," said Jim, inclining his head. "You've caused quite a mess, Jack, and I'm guessin' they put you in here for a reas-"

"Bull, shit!" said Jack, emphasizing both syllables. The bird lifted a bit higher in the air and began to kick helplessly. "I didn't do jack. I mean – the piracy, the vandalism? Sure. Didn't see why the hell not. But I can't help the way I am – I was _made_ this way." Tychus started feeling very nervous for his safety. _She don't sound stable. Not like ol' Tychus. Not stable at all._

"Listen, Jack," said Jim, "I can't claim to know what the hell has happened to you, or the things you done, or even… how the hell you're liftin' that poor warden without biotics, 'cause if you're a ghost, you'd know what we're about."

"I could have been a ghost," said Jack, her voice raising, "if maybe I had been born in the right fucking sector of space. We in KMC space?" _The hell does that have to do with anything?_

"Terminus Systems," said Jim, advancing a step. "Listen, Jack, we've both fucked up this station somethin' fierce. If you promise not to cause any trouble for us, we'll let you on board. We got our own prisoner to rescue, and assumin' you're on the level, don't see why we can't bring you along. But you gotta be on the level. You got me?"

"Terminus Systems is good," said Jack, and Tychus could see the wide smile on her face. "I can work with Terminus Systems. Hear that, shitlord? You and all your other Combine loving friends are in trouble."

With a grunt, Jack made a sudden cutting hand motion. With a shriek, the warden split in two, a shower of cobalt hitting the floor in a sudden gush, painting the metal a vibrant blue. Jack dusted off her hands.

"Sometimes I wish I couldn't do that, that I could read people's minds," she said, even as Tychus gagged at the smell coming off the warden's twitching remains. "Now is one of those times. This better not be a trap."

"You do anything like _that_ on board our ship, it's gonna be a bad time," said Jim, clearly strained. "We're doin' you a favor, Jack. Don't make us regret it."

Jack had stepped to the side, and made a sweeping hand gesture to the door.

"Don't worry," she said, mocking, "I believe in the Hammurabi shit. Eye for an eye and all that. You got me? You betray me, I'll strangle you with your own intestines."

"It's gonna be like having a krogan on board," grunted Trome as he joined Jim at the bulkhead. Jim had patched in to the ship again, and rapped twice on the steel. The bulkhead opened almost immediately.

"Hey there," said the pink CMC suit on the other side. It was a woman's voice this time. Her visor slid up, releasing a billowing cloud of smoke. "Got an extra passenger, huh?" She turned, looked down at the small form of Jack. "Wonderful. 'Bout time we got another bad bitch on board."

"Alright, this one? I like." Jack entered the docking tube first, offering a smile to the female marine as she went by. The marine surveyed the surrounding area outside the tube with interest.

"Not as bad as usual," she said casually, making Jim laugh.

"Everybody in, folks, let's get the hell out of here." Declan and Trome fell in behind, and Xeltan brought up the rear. Nose once again scraping the edge of the door, Tychus grunted in pain, and felt pleased at being able to do so. The screams and fire were now behind them, replaced instead by the hum of engines as Xeltan made his careful way into the ship.

"Sir," said a man bedecked in an old Confederate officer's uniform. _Captain, I guess. Sounds like Jim's in charge, though._

"We're good, Matt," said Jim, waving him off. "Declan might have broke a nail, that's about it. They didn't have heavy enough ordinance for Xeltan. Probably worried about puncturing the hull."

"Glad to hear it," said Matt. "Your uh, friend, is he okay?"

"Umphhh," said Tychus trying to nod. _Hope the burn on my nose ain't too bad, but it wouldn't be the worst damn scar I've ever picked up. Wish it had a better story, though._

"He's fine," said Jim. "And our other passenger, uh…"

"I'm alright," said Jack in a tone that was far too conversational for someone who had just torn a man in half with a hand gesture. "Nice ship. We gonna go?"

"Right," said Matt, looking and sounding confused. "Bound for Omega, sir. I've got it handled."

Matt sidled off, and Xeltan turned around, leaving Tychus to face a red haired lady. _Aww, tell me you're my doctor, sweetie._

"This is Dr. Chloe Michel," said Jim from out of sight. Tychus normally would have had to resist the urge to grin, but right now, he wasn't able to begin with. "She's been with us for a while, and says she can get you back to how you were. Sound good?"

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Tychus," said Dr. Michel, inclining her head. This time, Tychus actually did manage a small smile, which seemed to please her. "Stettman, help me with him. He's a little bigger than I had pictured. Tychus, try to hold up your weight as best you can…"

Dr. Michel and a mousy, brown-haired man undid the straps tethering Tychus to Xeltan, and managed to almost catch him as he fell to the floor. Tychus offered a soft groan as he was lifted, ribs aching from the impact. Another crewman had to join in to help carry him, and even then they still complained that he weighed too much. _And this is without the muscle, doctor. Can you imagine the specimen you're about to create? I tell you, it is_ magnificent.

After about ten minutes of slowly being moved, they laid Tychus on top of a gurney. The two men left, leaving only Dr. Michel, who hummed to herself while wheeling a machine in his direction and producing a few wires.

"There are a few drugs I can give you, and a few exercises once we've built up some mass," said Michel, attaching the wires to his arms, his legs, his chest. "For now, we're going to have to rely on Functional Electrical Stimulation. I will have to regulate the voltage so it doesn't hurt too much. Once this is done, you'll be up and about, ready to greet the new galaxy. Sound good?"

"Hell," said Tychus, spitting the words out, weakly gritting his teeth at what was likely to be a great deal of impending pain, and astonishing the doctor. "It's... about time."

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah, updates are going to be slower. I am massively afraid of doing this wrong and disappointing the people who are following along from Sudden Contact.**

 **Probably going to tackle the Factional Analysis again next. It'll be the Turian Hierarchy.**


	3. Candidacy

**Garrus**

 _Scratch one._

Garrus's rifle shot back into his shoulder once more, and he grimaced at the recoil. The grimace disappeared when he witnessed the blossom of red blood spray from the back of the batarian's head. He gave himself a small nod of satisfaction before resighting again. The movement at the other end of the bridge had ceased; they had given up on sending any more fools to their doom for the time being.

Garrus shook his head and lay his rifle down against the nearby wall.

"I need to find a new hobby." Garrus couldn't help but feel sad as he said this. _Talking to myself. That's what it's come to._ He hadn't seen a single friendly face since he had left C-Sec three months ago. His best exchanges with the residents of Omega had been neutral – usually just the exchange of credits for the bare essentials.

 _Like more guns. More explosives. Just a few more days' worth of dextro food…_

The population of Omega had not risen up as he had expected. There had been no outcry as, at last, someone stood up to the batarians and KM, to Aria and her ilk. Instead, there had just been the silence, the wide-eyed and vacant stares of those who had long ago given up hunt.

 _Well, there's also been bullets._ That was also true. After the shock had worn off, all too many residents were quite willing to try and take down the rogue vigilante, the one that had been sarcastically named "Archangel" by Aria T'loak.

"He fancies himself as something that does not exist," she had said on a rare broadcast. "He has deluded himself into thinking of himself as an archangel, here to smite down the wicked. Hunt him down, and bring him to me. Preferably alive and screaming."

In past times, Aria might not have cared if mercenary operations had gone awry, if Blue Suns and Eclipse suffered heavy losses at the hand of some lone vigilante. _But… that changed pretty quickly. Should've known better._ If Garrus had been successful in knocking out a Waygate, he would have died a happy turian. As it stood, it looked like he would simply die, instead.

 _There's no reinforcements coming. Not for me, anyway. Just the unending stream of mercs…_

At the other end of the bridge, Garrus caught flashes of movement. _Again? Already?_ Humanoid figures darted to and fro, heads down, weapons clasped at their sides. Some of them looked disconcertingly large. _They're bringing in the suits. Here's hoping they don't have barriers…_

Garrus gingerly grabbed the handle of his sniper rifle and pulled it back into position, trying to ignore the stabs of pain and sense of exhaustion. _Guess my dad was right. Getting things done by the book might be slow and sometimes ineffective, but it sure as hell beats this._ Muffled shouts echoed over the distance, and Garrus felt himself instinctively beginning to squeeze the trigger.

At first, there was nothing. He could see the telltale flashes of blue and yellow that indicated Blue Suns and Eclipse, and the occasional spiky figure that was likely a vorcha, but no one made the plunge on to the bridge. They swarmed on the other side of the battlements, so many shadows milling about, but they did not advance. _Stand by. Come on, Garrus. Why is your heart beating so fast? Are you afraid of dying? What kind of turian are you?_

 _Well, if the Blood Pack have finally decided to join in, then a damn scared one. Feeling fear – turians know how to feel fear. It's about controlling it._ Garrus breathed deep, closing his eyes and opening them once more. _Move it, you idiots. One last dance for the both of us. You want my head, and I want to use your corpses as fresh carpet for that bridge._

Behind him, there was a sharp laugh. Without thinking, Garrus dropped the rifle and cleared his sidearm from its holster, wheeling about as he did so. A hand blurred and his gun was knocked aside, twisting out of his grip. Still acting on instinct, Garrus had ripped his knife from its sheath with his other hand and brought it across-

The figure moved like liquid, fluid and powerful. Garrus's knife clanged against the figure's and snagged, causing him to grit his teeth as he brought his weight down on the blade and staggered forward, trying to get as close as possible to his assailant. His enemy, previously a white and faintly glowing blue, now appeared as a slight terran wearing a mask and clad in skintight armor. Garrus registered this for only a moment before the figure shimmered and vanished, her knife with it.

Garrus staggered forward as the weight was released and brought himself upright again as fast as possible. Staring about the room, eyes narrowed, breath coming in sharp and shallow, he turned slowly, scanning for the intruder.

"I liked that line, about the carpet," said an unseen voice, female and confident. "I've read the minds of many turians, and you're… well, you're the anomaly I was hoping for."

Garrus did not say anything back, instead trying to trace the source of the sound, knife ready. He crept carefully to his pistol and leaned over to grab it with his free hand. Without warning, it leapt into the air and floated out of Garrus's reach. _Ah. Crap._ Feeling ridiculous for doing so, Garrus tensed and pounced, trying to snag the floating weapon. It danced higher, clattering against the ceiling. Garrus slumped and gave up, resuming the search with knife alone. _Terran. Psionic I think. They're called ghosts. Seems fitting right now._

"You are entirely correct," said the voice. _Definitely terran._ "Now, Garrus, if I told you I was here to dig you out of this mess you made, would you believe me?"

"I'll be honest, that sounds far too good to be true," said Garrus, straightening. _No point shuffling around. She's invisible, she knows where I am, and I have a feeling she'd just yank the knife out of my hand if she was really worried._ "You are reading my mind?"

In the corner of the room, framed against the rightmost window, something shimmered and coalesced. Standing before him was the ghost, entirely at ease, rifle slung over her shoulder. The eyes of her mask met with Garrus's helmet.

"I am reading your mind," said the ghost, giving Garrus a small nod. "I am reading the minds of the gentlemen across the bridge. I am reading the minds of the vorcha digging below you. I have to say… you really know how to piss people off, Vakarian."

"It's one of my talents," said Garrus, pointedly not sheathing his blade. "It's up there alongside calibrating and disrespecting the chain of command. I suppose that's what makes me an anomaly. What do you want? You do realize those mercs are going to be swarming this place soon?"

"Not while Vasir is on her little rampage," said the ghost, sounding smug. "And the vorcha below have some ways to dig, yet. We have some time to discuss your future."

"My future?" Garrus could not help but give a choked laugh at this. He pointed a finger out the window, towards the enemy lines. "If they're to be the bridge's carpet, I'm soon to be this place's wallpaper. I'm far from home, haven't slept in about twenty-six hours, and it looks like they're sending in the heavy infantry. Not much future for this turian."

"No confidence in my abilities?" The ghost sounded amused. "What if I told you that I have every confidence in being able to dig you out of this intact? If I told you that I have been looking for someone like you for a very long time?"

Garrus grunted, sheathed his knife, and grabbed his rifle by the window. He took up his position once more while the ghost watched, silent.

"Not even a little bit interested?" she asked. "What if I told you this was about taking you on as my initiate… for Spectre candidacy?"

Garrus froze. _No. This absolutely cannot be happening._

"It can, and it is," said the ghost, and Garrus suddenly realized who she was.

 _Spirits. Sarah Kerrigan._ All his doubts suddenly vanished. _This entire space station is about to go up in flames, isn't it?_

"You're not too far off," said Kerrigan, unslinging her rifle and joining Garrus at the window. "Parts of it, anyway. Your little exploits on Omega haven't gone unnoticed, Vakarian. You're all that's on anybody's mind on this station… and I've read your dossier."

"I have a dossier?" Garrus could not help but feel a stab of pride at that. _So… someone did notice? The Council?_

"Not the Council," said Kerrigan. "It was mostly me, plus a few of my associates. You were considered for candidacy a little while back. A pity you declined."

"My father has even less respect for Spectres than he does for vigilantes," said Garrus. "So, in order to avoid dishonoring him, I elected to be unceremoniously shot and have my corpse fed to the vorcha. An honorable, turian death."

Kerrigan snorted and shook her head. Garrus watched her as best he could from the corner of his eye. _Not a hint of fear. And I know terran fear. Had to nail my fair share of Koprulu perps on the Citadel. You're a violent bunch. Right now… I'm thankful for that._

"You're not going to hear me disagree with that," said Kerrigan. "So – here's the plan. We hold this bridge until the vorcha dig their way in. Then, we escape using the tunnels they made for us, vanishing into the Warrens."

"The Warrens?" Garrus's heart began to beat faster again. "Not to sound… uncertain… but that's heavy vorcha territory. I've heard they've even begun spreading creep in the deeper reaches."

"Which is why most of the mercs won't follow," said Kerrigan, entirely unworried. "I know, you're a sniper first and foremost, but try to have confidence. I've got a knack for zerg, and that's all the vorcha are these days."

"A knack," said Garrus dully, watching the figures dance to and fro. "Right."

"You're coming with me, then?" asked Kerrigan. _Yes. I'm not convinced that this is not some fever dream after being shot by an Eclipse sniper, but I'll take my chances. Get me the hell out of here._ "Alright. I'll tell my associate to cease her little distraction. Get ready."

"It doesn't seem that little…" Flashes of blue light could be seen in the distance, accompanied by faint booms. _Probably another Spectre. Seems like being a one man… or woman… army is a prerequisite. Not sure I meet that requirement._

"You've been up here for over a day, Vakarian," said Kerrigan lightly. "You'll be fine. Now – believe me as I say this – you came in here as a vigilante. When you leave, it will be as a legend. Mark my words."

 _Not sure my father would approve of my being a legend either._ Garrus grunted, refocusing on his scope. _Why the hell should that matter? What is my father's disappointment compared to what these mercs will do if they catch me?_

 _Well, to be fair, my father's disappointment tends to last a lot longer than the ire of mercenaries. And mercs can at least be paid off._

The shouts had faded, and there was no further sign of disturbance from the barricade. Garrus breathed deeply, waiting. A heavy silence settled over the bridge. _Not much longer._ Garrus counted down from three, but nothing happened. He did it again, and still nothing. The third time, the mercs leapt down from the balcony on "two," irritating Garrus. He made his displeasure known.

"Scoped and dropped!" he said as the terran on the left collapsed bonelessly, blood pooling underneath his head. Kerrigan made no reply, having already nailed two other targets. Cursing, Garrus brought his reticule to bear on a sprinting asari, shooting her once in the leg to shatter her barriers and slow her run, and then once neatly in the head.

"They're sending in cannon fodder," said Kerrigan dispassionately. "Try not to get worn down. They'll be sending in heavy infantry soon enough, and Vasir reported that they had a Banshee in the back."

"Wonderful," said Garrus, gritting his teeth. "Do you think it has a cloaking device?"

"You don't seem like a lucky person," said Kerrigan, firing twice at the figures below. "I'm thinking it does."

The cannon fodder continued to charge. Those with promise sprinted for cover, and died in the attempt. Those with courage pelted down the bridge, and died in the attempt. Those with neither tried to shoot back, and were effortlessly picked off. Kerrigan reloaded to his left, making Garrus smirk at the terran fixation on limited (if enormous) ammunition. His own weapon was perfectly calibrated, could disperse heat without difficulty, and was fully capable of punching through CMC armor if aimed properly. _And you damn well better bet that I can aim it properly._

"Here they come," said Kerrigan as she finished reloading, apropos of nothing that Garrus could see. _Telepath. Better take her word for it._ Garrus downed the last charging salarian and felt nothing but satisfaction as his target fell with a scream and a gurgle. At the other end of the bridge, larger figures descended the barricade with a thud. By the time Garrus had resighted his weapon, they were already charging.

 _Joints and visors._ If they had barriers, it would probably take three or four rounds. If not, a double tap would do it. Garrus aimed at the foremost figure and fired twice at the torso and immediately retargeted.

"Ah!" Garrus dived from the window at the same time Kerrigan did. The steel around the frame shattered and deformed as the hail of slugs pelted it, the sheer size and force of them utterly destroying the cover Garrus had been making use of for the last day. _They finally got serious. Let's try to make them pay for it; suits are expensive outside the Koprulu Sector._

"Follow me!" Kerrigan was already on her feet, and Garrus could do little but follow behind her as best he could. As they left the room, she vanished in another shimmer of light. A soft thud from below made Garrus suspect she had vaulted over the balcony. He decided not to follow suit, instead planting his rifle barrel on the edge and waiting for the inevitable chaos.

The mercs burst in, shouting through their visors. Garrus planted a round through the visor of the first marine and dove to the side. A hail of slugs punched through the part of the balcony where he had been previously standing, and the bullets quickly began adjusting to where he was. Garrus skid his rifle further across the floor and crawled frantically to where it had ended up.

The shouts from below turned into screams. Garrus grabbed his rifle with a grunt and brought the weapon to bear on the new part of the balcony. He was greeted by the sight of a pile of CMC suits laying together with fresh holes in their visors, and a final merc being held in place by an unimpressed Kerrigan. With a quick gesture, she sent the merc flying through the nearest window, his scream quickly fading as he fell the length of Omega. _Huh. Impressive._

Garrus descended the stairs with his scope still pressed to his eye, wary of further intrusions. Kerrigan, for her part, had fallen against a pillar, taking advantage of the lull by deftly reloading her weapon.

"We need to head to the sublevel," she said with a casualness that both scared and impressed Garrus. "Eclipse got their Banshee running, and they know the bridge is clear. The firebats are coming in."

"Doesn't sound too fun," said Garrus, gesturing for the sublevel door. Kerrigan took point without a word. "Tell me again, how are we going to survive the waves of vorcha who are, if anything, twice as deadly as those firebats?"

"We'll play it by ear," said Kerrigan dismissively, before realizing Garrus had no idea what that expression meant. "I've got some ideas, but I'm not sure how bad it will be when we get down there. Your little attempt at that Waygate has shaken up Omega quite a bit; there's vorcha all over the place right now. What in the hell inspired you to try that?"

"My aim was better than I thought," said Garrus, as he followed Kerrigan down the steps, trying not to insist that she hurry up. "I built up a cache of explosives – was reserving them for krogan, but I was getting quite good at nailing their hearts and quads. So, the explosives built up. And… I was getting frustrated, at the lack of a difference I was making." Garrus's mandibles twitched. "Sad. I killed rapists and murderers, gang leaders and pimps, but no one cared. The minute I touched the that little artificial relay-"

"Speaking as someone with a Waygate already under their belt, I can tell you that touching them will always get a reaction," said Kerrigan, standing at the bottom of the steps and giving Garrus an all-clear. "They're what ties the Terminus Systems to the KMC and Hegemony. Destroying even one neuters their trade routes and source of income. That also gives the Dominion more ground on the border. If you live within ten star systems of a Waygate, you're not going to thank someone for tampering with them." Kerrigan paused. "Unless you're a slave, I suppose."

"You've destroyed a Waygate?" asked Garrus. "Huh. I don't suppose you could give me some advice?"

"We'll cover it in training," said Kerrigan, pressing herself against the side of a thick, heavy shutter. "They're on the other side. I'm going to open the shutter and cloak. I can scatter the vorcha, but then you need to haul ass down the…" she paused, apparently doing something psionic. "…right tunnel. Ready?"

"No one can be ready for the Warrens," said Garrus, halfway to resigning himself to ending up in some vorcha's belly. He pressed himself against the other side of the shutter. "Do it."

Kerrigan pounded a button behind her with a fist. The shutter cranked open to the unholy shrieking of vorcha on the other side, and Kerrigan vanished with a shimmer. As soon as the shutter was halfway up, the vorcha poured in, but ignored Garrus, instead seeming to sniff the air and glare about the room with red eyes. Garrus leveled his weapon –

The vorcha were ripped away from Garrus by some unseen, sucking force. _MOVE IT, VAKARIAN._ Garrus spared no time for the screaming, whirling vorcha, instead listening to the familiar voice in his head. Sprinting with his rifle clutched to his chest, Garrus saw the two tunnels and darted into the right one. The air instantly became much colder, and as he descended, the constant if dingy light of Omega began to fade, replaced instead by… something else.

Garrus kept on for about a minute, breathing hard in a mixture of panic and exertion. When he stopped, it was to his eternal relief that Kerrigan reappeared seconds afterward in front of him, mask slightly askew.

"Blue Suns are waiting at the entrance," said Kerrigan, pausing to take a breath. "The vorcha are telling them, as best they can, what will happen if they head down here. Vorcha are territorial. Zerg are territorial. So…"

"I get it," said Garrus, looking back at the darkness he had rushed through. He sniffed, once, twice, and then tried not to gag. "Agh. It stinks in here. Smells like bad meat and mildew."

"You should try a real zerg hive sometime," said Kerrigan before motioning for Garrus to follow. "Keep it quiet and stay close. I think I can keep the vorcha at a distance, but you can't stray."

"Is this a ghost thing?" asked Garrus, curious. "I didn't know there was much of anything that could calm down vorcha these days."

"It's a ghost thing," hissed Kerrigan back. "Now, quiet!"

Garrus followed close behind, trying not to trip in the dim lighting. He was tempted to turn on the flashlight mounted on his gun, but saw that Kerrigan had not done so, and elected to follow her example. The smell began to grow more and more oppressive, and the steel of Omega had given way to something… squishy.

 _Ugh…_ Garrus had heard stories about the Warrens. The vorcha that went topside only referred to them as "home," and made clear that non-vorcha, barring the occasional krogan battlemaster, were not welcome. Garrus had spoken to one Preitor Gavorn, a turian vorcha exterminator, about the Warrens, and what he heard was… not encouraging.

"They're more zerg than vorcha on the inside now, I think," Gavorn had said, sipping the brandy Garrus had bribed him with. "They're still spiky on the outside and stupid as shit in general, but the things I've seen them do… heh. It'd make you cough up your wine, Vakarian."

Still, Garrus had pressed on.

"They cough up this kind of webbing and string people up," Gavorn had said swirling his glass carelessly. "Not sure where the people are from, but I imaging they're from the poorer areas – people go missing every day on Omega, and there are many that will not be missed. Some people get stuck to walls, others hide from the ceiling. The ones that aren't moving anymore, they have these huge slits where they tore them open. It's to feed the younger ones, let them eat the guts as they spill to the ground. I've seen it happen. I imagine the adult vorcha hunt their own food. You can guess where."

"Are they breeding a lot down there?" Garrus had asked, privately thankful that his own business kept him topside, even as he vowed to investigate disappearances in the poorer parts of Omega.

"I'm never going out of business," was Gavorn's only reply.

Naturally, recalling this did not reassure Garrus in the slightest. He followed Kerrigan close behind, trying to ignore how his feet seemed to sink and stick to the floor he was now treading on. The air had grown thick with the stink of bad meat, and the steel walls were now covered in some kind of strange brown residue. _Try not to think about what it's made of._

"It's a kind of watered down zerg creep," said Kerrigan quietly, leaving Garrus to wonder what it was like to listen to everyone else's thoughts. "I'm surprised the vorcha haven't gone insa- more insane than they already are. I suppose it ties into their adaptability. They manage to handle both their zerg instincts and their own. It's impressive, really."

"I'll be sure to compliment them on their viciousness," said Garrus, sounding calmer than he felt. "How are our friends at the entrance?"

"They're following," said Kerrigan, sounding… nauseous? "I've… taken care of it."

Garrus did not ask Kerrigan to elaborate. From far behind him, terrified screams echoed from higher in the tunnels, interspersed with the sharp staccato of gunfire. It went silent all too quickly. _Seems like Kerrigan is doing some behind the scenes work, here. Dirty business, but I suppose there was no alternative._ Kerrigan looked behind her at that thought, and Garrus thought she shook her head in slight disbelief. It was over so fast, however, that Garrus could not be certain.

The tunnel gave way into what might have once been an atrium. Below, Garrus could catch snatches of movement and scuttling shadows. He huddled close to Kerrigan and tried not to feel ashamed.

"This isn't anywhere normal people should be, Vakarian," said Kerrigan softly. "Keep close, and do not make eye contact. Let's go."

 _Never claimed to be normal…_ Garrus followed Kerrigan, giving her less than a foot of space. They rounded the upper level of the atrium, Garrus feeling (probably correctly) that they were being watched.

From the ceiling, a formless shape descended, hitting the ground before them with a horrible sticking noise. It uncoiled, standing to reveal the spiky shape of a large vorcha, about six and a half feet tall. Garrus did not meet its gaze, instead fixating on the size of its claws. _Huh. Maybe I should compliment it._ They appeared very sharp and oddly well-maintained.

"You know what I am," said Kerrigan firmly to the vorcha. "I can kill you with my mind in ways you cannot imagine. Let us pass."

"You bring food to nest?" asked the vorcha, sounding as if it was salivating as it talked. Garrus continued to keep his eyes downcast. "Blue Suns. Eclipse. Akh. Their armor is thick, but the flesh is so soft. What is behind you?"

 _Not who. What._ Garrus's heart beat a little faster.

"Someone who is not to be underestimated… yet you are underestimating me now. This is your last chance." Kerrigan's hands had clenched. The vorcha snarled, bringing itself closer to her face – and then it backed away and to the side, clearing the path. _Huh._

Garrus followed close behind. Soft snarls drifted through the stagnant air of the… hive… as Kerrigan and Garrus walked single file to the other side of the atrium, now walking uphill. _Blessed uphill._ Garrus sighed in relief.

"Can just anyone do that?" he asked Kerrigan quietly. "Threaten the vorcha into submission?"

"There has to be a… understanding," said Kerrigan, sounding uncomfortable. "I'm familiar with the zerg, have been familiar with them for years. Vorcha… aren't quite zerg, not quite as mindless, but both halves of them respect strength, psionic strength especially." She paused. "I had to threaten their children. That's what I told him, in his head. They knew I could do it, as well. Sometimes that's what it takes."

"All part of a hard day's work for a Spectre?" asked Garrus. Kerrigan did not respond this time.

They walked in silence for about five minutes, Kerrigan never stopping, even as the horrible tunnels weaved and intersected. _She knows where she's going._ Garrus was duly thankful, but could not shake the impression that they were still being watched. _It's probably the correct impression, too. This is not a good place for a sniper._

Kerrigan stopped suddenly, and Garrus was quick to grasp why. Before them, moaning and making papery noises, was a terran woman, stuck to the wall. _Alive. But… not for long. Gavorn wasn't lying._

The woman seemed to sense that someone was nearby. She began to make muffled wails, half coherent pleas for someone to help her. Without hesitation, Garrus removed his knife from its sheath, only to have his wrist caught by Kerrigan's iron fingers.

"Don't," said Kerrigan, shaking her head. "Vakarian… don't. If we mess with their food, all bets are off. They _will_ kill us."

"And if we don't they _will_ kill her," replied Garrus, shaking his hand free and approaching the woman. "I'm not leaving her down here."

"You're starting to remind me of someone," said Kerrigan, sounding annoyed. "He was a good man, too. Capable, tough… but unbending. It never leads to a good end."

"Is he dead?" asked Garrus, sliding his knife into the vile cocoon and beginning to saw. The substance gave way without too much difficulty. "You make it sound like he's dead."

"Not yet," said Kerrigan. "He's an outlaw and a bit of an idiot, but he's still alive."

"Then I should be fine, right?" asked Garrus, halfway through the cocoon. "Are you going to stop me?"

"No," said Kerrigan from behind him. "But I'm not going to help you carry her. You better get ready to haul ass."

The woman fell with a soft thud, and Garrus wasted no time lifting her up, placing her form over her shoulders. Kerrigan violently gestured for him to follow, and then began _sprinting._ Garrus groaned and fell in behind, weighed down by the barely conscious terran. From below, a cacophony of shrieks followed in their wake. _Damn it, Garrus. Why did you have to be not only the most handsome turian on this station, but also the most valorous?_ He couldn't help but snort at that, even as his heart hammered ever faster. _The things I come up with… even as I'm about to die._

Garrus shambled after Kerrigan with all the speed he could muster, trying to fight that damnable impulse all too many perps had given in to while he was chasing them – the urge to look behind him. _Even if I weren't carrying this terran, it would slow me down. Spirits!_

The air was steadily growing less fetid, but Garrus could not help but notice that the incline was getting ever steeper, and the cries from behind were getting closer and closer. Kerrigan swore and moved to the side, motioning for Garrus to continue onward while bringing her rifle to bear. He did not pause, barreling past her, ears ringing as she began to fire into the horde of foes behind them. _Spirits watch over you, Kerrigan._

Legs burning, lungs heaving, Garrus clambered up the tunnel, trying to ignore the sounds of gunfire and screams from behind. The smells faded, the light took on that familiar bright if dingy hue, and Garrus emerged, panting, from the tunnel, tumbling over and causing the terrified terran to spill across the floor.

"Sorry," breathed Garrus, wobbling as he stood once more. The terran woman backed into the corner of the room they were in – some kind of warehouse storage it looked like – and stared at him. Garrus paid her no mind, instead examining the hole in the wall he had emerged from. He stared into the depths – and was immediately greeted with a Kerrigan who was almost blurring from the speed she was running at.

"Not done – grab girl and go go go!" She didn't wait for him, instead running to the right and flinging open the door. Garrus grabbed the girl who, to his dismay, began to scream, and followed Kerrigan through the door. To his relief, the girl stopped screaming quickly, and refrained from doing the things Garrus hated the most from rescued victims – chiefly, biting, hitting, or kicking the people carrying them. _Good. She knows I'm trying to save her._

They had entered some kind of long abandoned factory floor. Dust and old machine parts coated the ground, making it infuriatingly difficult to avoid tripping, and judging from the sprayed gang signs, it was clear this was still vorcha territory. Kerrigan beckoned Garrus onward, and he half ran, half danced his way through the rubbish. He still slipped twice, though he did not fall.

 _Almost there, Vakarian. Move!_ At this stage, he wasn't even certain that was Kerrigan or himself thinking that. He followed Kerrigan with labored breath, leaving the factory behind only to enter the dank back allies of Omega. A krogan in red armor, surprised at the commotion, propelled himself from the wall he was leaning against and reached for his shotgun. Kerrigan knocked him aside with a gesture, and Garrus paid the krogan no mind as he ran past his cursing form.

From there, it was a blur. The air was clearer, there was light, and the rank animal hostility of the vorcha gave way to the simple unpleasantness of Omega. After ten minutes, they were even somewhere Garrus recognized – close to Afterlife. _Not safe, obviously, but… preferable, definitely preferable to the vorcha tunnels._

Kerrigan gave him a knowing nod, and Garrus slid against a wall to his knees, letting the terran woman fall away to the floor. She stood up before Garrus did.

"I… thank you," she said, hand shaking, looking between the two of them. "How… how did you? Why?"

"You were there, and so were we," said Garrus, panting. "Sometimes… sometimes you get lucky. Get out of here. You're safe now."

"Thank… thank you," she said, trying to shake Garrus's hand and eventually succeeding. She looked to Kerrigan, and thought better of approaching. "I… I won't forget this. Someday I'll pay you back, when I make it big. Look for me. Nef. I'm a sculptor."

 _Well, if I can be a Spectre, there's no reason you can't get famous._ The girl left, trying to suppress desperate sobs of anxiety. If Omega were civilized, Garrus could have sent her to any number of grief counselors. _But it isn't civilized. Here, I can only point you toward slavers._

"That feel good?" asked Kerrigan, slightly mockingly, crouching before Garrus and staring at him with her lifeless mask. "How do you feel? Is the world a better place yet?"

"It's on its way," said Garrus after taking a deep breath. "Better than it would have been, had I left her down there. Is that what it takes to be a Spectre? Because if that's all it takes, if that's all the Council is interested in, then you'll need to find another turian."

Kerrigan opened her mouth to respond, but instead stiffened. Two figures were approaching their back alley, and Garrus began to feel an odd sense of looking into a mirror – they too were a male turian and a terran in a skin tight outfit.

"You recovered the vigilante?" asked the turian, voice deep. Garrus looked at his unpainted face with suspicion. _Politician or idealist? I've never had an experience with a bareface that I've liked._

"I'd keep that quiet, Vakarian," said the woman on the barefaced's left, face also obscured by a mask. Her voice was a little higher than Kerrigan's, but far more disdainful. The two Spectres ignored her.

"I've got him," said Kerrigan, folding her arms in a gesture Garrus recognized as defiant. "It's done, then?"

"Vasir was later than I would have liked, but yes," said the turian, voice steely. He looked Garrus up and down. "Nova. What happened here?"

"They stopped for a vorcha victim," said Nova dispassionately. "They saved her, and it almost killed them."

" _This_ is what you think makes for a good Spectre?" asked the turian, making Garrus's temper flare. "A crazed vigilante with a bleeding heart? When he learns some of the Council's dirty secrets, like what caused our initiation for instance, what do you think he'll do? There is no place for rogue Spectres in this galaxy. We should put a bullet in his head and collect the bounty."

"Because he's not heartless enough for you?" asked Kerrigan, raising her voice.

"Because he will put the lives of others in front of the mission," said the turian, making Garrus nod. _He's not wrong._

"The mission, in this case, was his recruitment," said Kerrigan. "In which case, he put his own life behind the lives of others. An admirable trait."

"In a soldier," said the other ghost, Nova. The two women locked eyes for a moment, and Garrus swore the air grew colder.

"In anyone," said Kerrigan, enunciating each syllable. "He held his own against most of Omega for a full day. He provided the opening we needed – that you needed. He has the skill, and that's the main qualifier. Not everyone needs to be like us, Saren."

 _Saren?! I should have suspected. Ah… now I am embarrassed._

Saren bent over Garrus, his eyes searching Garrus's helmet. He did not look impressed.

"It is no concern of mine if you have chosen a subpar recruit," said Saren, standing. "Time will tell. Now… we need to leave. Vasir is waiting."

"On that we are agreed," said Kerrigan, helping Garrus to his feet. The four of them left together, Saren and Nova in the front, Kerrigan and Garrus behind. At this point, Garrus felt more like a walking corpse than a Spectre candidate, and he barely registered as they walked through a docking tube and basically carried to a small seat with a view port.

"This will wake you up," said Kerrigan as the engines roared to life. She sat next to Garrus and shook him slightly. "You weren't the main reason we came here. Watch."

The ship detached from the tube and began to propel itself with speed from the station. Through heavy lids, Garrus watched the hell that was Omega grew slowly more distant, its Waygates surrounding it like some protecting fleet.

"That one," said Kerrigan, pointing to Waygate Bravo, the one Garrus had tried to blow up. "Watch."

A crack of orange appeared on the spinning device. Without warning, flames leapt form its hull, climbing quickly towards the enormous canisters of vespene that made it possible in the first place.

Garrus's heart thudded dully as the flames reached the canisters. There was a momentary calm, and then the Waygate _exploded._ Huge, boiling shafts of metal split and bubbled, torn from each other by the force of the blast. A nearby transport was ripped in half by the blast, its hull left scorched and lifeless by the detonation.

"You provided a great distraction, Garrus," said Kerrigan, patting him on the shoulder. "I look forward to doing this again with you sometime." She got up and left, whistling a little tune. Garrus simply watched the wreckage spin towards Omega and laughed until he began to choke.

* * *

 **A/N: Still trying to find my feet, but I am happy with this chapter.**

 **Sudden Contact now has a tropes page. Thanks to Drgyen for doing it, and thanks to everyone who is reading.**


	4. Sequestered

**Tali'Zorah**

Tali waited at the threshold of the Nexus entrance, trying to master the fear that gripped her every time she tried to approach a protoss of her own accord.

It was a silly thing, really. The protoss had done the quarian people no wrong – quite the opposite. They had saved her people from their folly and sequestered the Migrant Fleet from a hostile galaxy when they could have just as easily purified both sides with that self-righteous fury they were so fond of. _Still… it's like hovering around my father while he worked, eager to speak with him, but all too aware of my place in things._ Fortunately, the protoss (or at least, the Nerazim) took such behavior in good humor – a far cry from the frustration and impatience of her parent.

Taking a deep breath, Tali steeled herself one last time and approached the door. The Nexus's entrance slid open, revealing the shadowed interior within. She had been told that the protoss outside Shakuras, the rarely seen Khalai, preferred to have their Nexuses brightly lit to maintain the comfort of their "light bloated" Templar. The Nerazim, as always, preferred the shadows. _Keelah, you would think such a people would have grown out of melodrama._ She crossed the threshold.

"There, Selendis," said the low voice of the Nerazim Matriarch, Razagal, her voice betraying both great age and strength, "there stands one of the foremost of the Masked Wanderers, these quarians." Tali's eyes adjusted even as her suit registered movement. Seated at the center of the Nexus was the Matriarch, her bearing straight. Before her was a sight Tali had yet to see before: a female Templar in battle armor, gleaming even in the dim lighting. _I was starting to suspect there were no such people among the Khalai._

"We are few, but draw strength from our scarcity," came the voice of Selendis, fiercely proud. "We Khalai cling to tradition, often perhaps past the point of reason. Keelah se'lai, young Tali'zorah. It is an honor to meet you."

"En taro Adun, Executor," replied Tali, stepping towards the two protoss as they radiated approval.

"You know the words and recognize my dress!" said Selendis, astounded. "There are Templar under my command who still have trouble with my title, yet you, freshly met, address me properly."

"The quarians have freed themselves from most trappings of discrimination," said Razagal, her glowing green eyes fixed on Tali from the shadows. "The geth are, perhaps, the last shackle of hatred, and not without good reason."

"I was on Aiur when Artanis reached Rannoch," said Selendis. "I have heard only stories of what transpired there. Forgive my ignorance – would you indulge this Executor?"

"You could just read my mind," said Tali, looking at the Executor with interest. She was quite unlike the sometimes sickly looking Nerazim; her armor was thick, and she was both broader shouldered and taller than any Dark Templar Tali had met. "I wouldn't object."

"I am bound for distant shores, young Tali'Zorah," said Selendis. "The Citadel, to be precise. I am trying to put myself in practice of speaking to those unused to our presence. Telepathy, I am told, is impolitic. I am still getting used to this."

"The Citadel?" Tali's mouth opened and shut underneath the suit. _Is it finally happening? Is it time?_ "Aiur is safe, then? Your war is over?"

"The Khalai people as a whole finally decided we had bled each other enough," said Selendis. "My blades are stained with the blood of too many Templar. But at last, at long last, a Nerazim can walk on the surface of the planet in relative safety… and Artanis is recognized as Hierarch."

"He is young for such a position," murmured Razagal. "How did it come to be?"

"The worker caste rose up for him," said Selendis stiffly. "With the Conclave destroyed, the Khalai turned to their own people and sought their opinions on who to lead us into the future. The Judicators nominated Aldaris – as we knew they would. Fenix made it explicitly clear he was disinterested when nominated by the Templar… so they turned to Artanis. His youth and outspokenness appealed to the workers. They considered him a herald of change." Selendis looked away. "I suspect such opinions factored into my own promotion to Executor. I will not deny I am capable – but young, perhaps, for such a position. Like Artanis, I shall strive to do my best."

"All through my life, I worked in the shadow of my father, the famous admiral," said Tali. "Trying to live up to his name – there was always this expectation. Everything I ever achieved, I attributed it to being his daughter, something I couldn't control, that took no effort. But – that wasn't true. Not really. I think the same could apply here."

"I hope this does not happen on the Citadel," said Selendis, more than a little amused. "To have my spirits bolstered by the words of those only a tenth of my age – ah! My fragile Templar pride could not stand it. Still, you have my thanks, Tali'zorah."

"And you have my attention in full at last, Tali," said Razagal, stirring, her eyes again transfixed on Tali's face. "Please, dispel any notions of fear or trepidation at approaching a protoss. Every day we work together toward a brighter future for your people, and I find it hard to remember that when those I respect think of me with fear."

"Sorry, Matriarch," said Tali, inclining her head. "It is just that – what I am asking may seem presumptuous. It is certainly without precedent."

"Did your father send you?" asked Razagal, the shadows of her cut nerve cords dangling in the half-light. "One of the admirals?"

"It is of my own accord," said Tali, trying to inject a bit of pride into her voice. "You have done much for us, for our people, but the galaxy continues to persecute us. Do you remember Veetor'Nara, bound for Pilgrimage on Eden Prime?"

"How could I forget such a skittish mind?" asked Razagal sadly. "We Nerazim have traditionally had quite the wanderlust ourselves, but we never sought to enforce galactic travel on the unwilling. In Veetor, I could see the dangers of your own practice. What has become of him? If the terrans have touched him, they will soon know bitter regret at our hands."

"We don't know," said Tali, very nervous. "The psi beacons you gave us – the ones you installed in the suits, to call for help? He activated his. He's still on Eden Prime, but something's gone wrong."

"And you wish to initiate a rescue, no doubt?" Razagal nodded slowly. "Or… you had something else in mind?"

"The quarian people are still not… accepted… throughout much of space," said Tali. "Most Koprulu terrans try to take us in to learn our location, and the Council no longer accepts us in their space. Sending in a team of marines would not be the most diplomatic move. I was hoping you might lend us a Nerazim ship for a more clandestine rescue." _That's good. It sounds professional. I sound confident._

"Did you come up with this yourself, Tali'Zorah?" asked Razagal, leaning back into the shadows, leaving her visage obscured. "I certainly cannot see Rael or Han suggesting such a strategy. They prefer to cling to their last vestiges of martial pride."

"The quarians have many things to be proud of," said Tali, holding her hands behind her back and keeping her bearing stiff and respectful. "I do not believe that the strength of our military should be one of them. If the galaxy is to respect us once more, it should be for our endurance, our technical prowess, our intelligence."

"A bold statement in such a martial galaxy," replied Razagal, face still shadowed. A clawed hand gestured to Selendis. "Even among the protoss, it is rare to hear such things spoken of. Sapients take pride in their war crafts. A contest of might is easy to conduct, and the results are usually quite clear. I am proud to see that you wish to step beyond this."

"If they've touched Veetor, however, I'll show them a different side of my people," continued Tali. "Veetor would never hurt anyone, and innocence must be protected."

"Hah!" said Selendis. "Battle can be joined for the protection of others, Matriarch, and no one will respect a show of weakness."

"This is true enough," said Razagal, the shadow of her face nodding. "Tali'Zorah, I now understand your trepidation, but thank you for approaching me. Should any of my warriors be interested, I would gladly permit them to join you on this rescue. It shouldn't take any longer than – ah. Now, it would seem."

Tali started as heavy footsteps fell from behind her. Turning quickly, it was to come face to face with one of the more weathered looking Dark Templar she had ever met. His eyes glowed with a familiar green, and his warp blade was far more intricate than most she had seen. A heavy cloak was wrapped around his figure, its color dark but hard to discern within the shade of the Nexus. Selendis offered the stranger a nod, which he returned.

"Adun toridas, Matriarch," intoned the figure, taking a knee before Razagal. "With the hostilities on Aiur concluded, I gladly offer my services to the quarian people. It has been too long since I have wandered the stars, and I tire of the feel of familiar ground beneath me."

"You wish to leave once more, Prelate?" The Matriarch sounded more resigned than surprised. "You have wandered the stars for centuries – I hoped you could spare a few decades on Shakuras to teach and train, at the very least."

"I have witnessed every inch of Shakuras," said the Prelate. "The same cannot be said of Eden Prime, of countless other worlds. I would do service for the inhabitants of Shakuras, but do not wish to remain. Last time I left, I eventually fell upon Tassadar. Perhaps my leaving could be of similar consequence."

"I cannot stop you, only discourage you, dear Zeratul," said Razagal, leaning forward back into the light, her eyes bright yet sad. _Zeratul? One of the original Nerazim who brought us here. He looks so different up close…_

"It will be a shame to lose a warrior of your caliber," said Selendis as Zeratul rose. "Many Templar on Aiur owe their lives to your heroism and skill."

"And many more lost their lives to the same," said Zeratul, shaking his head. "Thank you, Executor. I pray your travels are likewise worthwhile. I fear your talents may go wasted aboard the Citadel, but there is no predicting Aldaris's behavior. I advise caution." Bowing deeply before the other two protoss, Zeratul finally turned to Tali, who had backed away slightly from the proceedings without realizing it. _Oh! I hope they are not offended._ Zeratul gestured for her to follow, and the two left the Nexus together while Selendis and Razagal remained behind.

"You are Rael'Zorah's child, Shala'Raan's niece, correct?" Tali nodded in affirmation as the Nexus slid open, letting the pale light of Shakuras shine through. They emerged from the Nexus together, walking side by side. "Ah. I was still on the Citadel at the time Artanis made contact, but I met your father and aunt shortly before you crossed into this sector. It was I who suggested Shakuras be your haven. Your father was quite opposed."

"I'm not surprised," said Tali glumly as they began the long walk back to the large huddle of repurposed Migrant vessels at the edge of Kalematros. Most called it the Quarian Quarter. "He promised me a house on the homeworld, once. I remember him telling me that he tried to enlist Artanis to help destroy the geth."

"He did," said Zeratul. "He begged myself and Artanis to turn the ships around and cleanse the geth for, as he put it, "the sake of organic life." I was fresh from Thessia. I had seen the kind of havoc organic life could wreak. His words were met with little sympathy."

"But he accepted it in the end," said Tali, a little more plaintively than she would have liked. "Look how far we've come, since!"

The skyline of Kalematros was astounding. The Nerazim were less gaudy than their High Templar counterparts, and it showed in the subtle silver and purple hues of their buildings. Crystals hovered atop many of the splendid towers, powered by the enormous floating pylons that dotted themselves around the buildings.

"It does not gleam and it does not dazzle," one Nerazim, Ulrezaj, had said to Tali once. "Not like the Khalai's golden cities and ships. But Kalematros does shine."

 _And, on the edge, there lies the first and only quarian settlement since we left Rannoch._ It wasn't much, little more than several vessels too badly damaged in the fighting that had been repurposed into buildings, but it was more than they had once had. _And now, we can farm outside the ships._ The protoss had always been strangely intrigued by that, the concept of farming. It was not unusual to catch the occasional Dark Templar on the edges of the fields, watching them work with those inscrutable expressions of theirs. _I suppose it makes sense. They feed on light – they never had to take on such tasks._

"Yes," said Zeratul. "Much has been accomplished since your exodus. I am sorry to see that reconciliation between yourselves and the geth has not been among them."

A stab of emotion went through Tali at that. _They can read our minds and hear our words, but they can never understand. Keelah…_

"I had friends who died on Rannoch," said Tali carefully, even as her voice shook slightly. "Some of them were simply technicians and crewmen who were unlucky. A few were marines – two even got to see the homeworld's skies. They were all slaughtered by geth. Looking back at our history, that's all we can see. Our friends and family being slaughtered by geth. That's… that's all I have to say."

"Do not think us blind to your struggles, young Tali," said Zeratul, not ungently. He stopped, his gaze fixed on the Quarian Quarter that loomed ahead. "Do not think we do not understand your plight. Forgiveness and mercy are all too rare in the galaxy these days, yet forgiveness and mercy were key in meeting and befriending Tassadar, who in turn saved us all. We, too, were cast out by those who judged us a threat to their existence, who could not understand us. Our own homeworld has only recently been won back through the combined efforts of our estranged family. I can only hope it heralds the same for Rannoch."

"I appreciate that," said Tali stiffly, even if she could not believe it. "Thank you. As for Eden Prime – do you have a vessel? How many passengers will you be able to accept?"

"Yourself, of course," said Zeratul, looking to Tali and inclining his head. "There is already another passenger, who you will meet shortly. I suppose… one more, beyond that. I am not an unskilled warrior, as Selendis could tell you, and I think the four of us should be able to retrieve your wayward pilgrim without too much difficulty."

"Thank you," said Tali, staring into those intense green eyes of his. "It seems my people owe much to you in particular, Zeratul. Allow me to notify my father and find Reegar, and then I will be ready to leave."

"I will be waiting," said Zeratul, bowing deeply before her and then fading away, his eyes the last part of him to go. _And now, the hard part._

Tali activated her omnitool and tapped in a few rapid keys. For once, her father was prompt in responding. No sooner had his mask appeared on the screen, he began to speak.

"Tali – Veetor's signal is still live! Have you persuaded the protoss to let us send a rescue team after him?" His voice betrayed too much excitement for Tali's liking. _He just wants an excuse to be able to send some people off of Shakuras, to rekindle that sense of independence. Not what we need right now._

"I spoke to the Matriarch," said Tali carefully. "I suggested that she send a small team – using a Dark Templar ship, to keep it quiet. She accepted. Zeratul will be accompanying myself and Kal'Reegar."

"That's… that's smart!" said her father, recovering quickly. _He must be in the presence of someone important. The other admirals, maybe._ Tali smiled to herself beneath the helmet. She could tell he was frustrated, but also that he was proud of his daughter because, well, it _was_ smart. She would be going, which appealed to him, and Kal'Reegar would be there, which both he and Han'Gerrel would like. She would be in close proximity to a Dark Templar and his vessel, which Daro'Xen would undoubtedly approve of, and the mission would be low profile thanks to Zeratul's proven expertise. Zaal'Koris would find nothing to complain about. _It will most likely be a safe, successful mission. There is little Zeratul has not seen._

"How soon can you leave?" asked Rael, his tone now subtly less enthusiastic. "And how soon can you get there? A protoss ship could be there within a day – and I would not leave Veetor unattended for too long. If they have him in captivity-"

"We can leave as soon as I find Reegar," said Tali, cutting off her father before he launched into a tirade about the terrans. _It's unfair, really. The ITSA have never done anything to us, but he's lumped them all in together._ Tali's own Pilgrimage had been conducted inside the Umojan Protectorate three years ago. Few pilgrims dared to make the trip, as it meant traveling through a sizable amount of Dominion space, but she had found it quite pleasant. The terrans there had been polite and inquisitive, though not obnoxiously so, and Umoja had been beautiful. _I was almost tempted to stay._ Dwindling supplies of dextro food as well as a visiting retinue of Dominion ghosts quickly dispelled any such thoughts, however. She knew all too well what awaited her if she was captured. "Veetor will not be waiting long, father, I assure you."

"Good," said Rael, now sounding fully proud. "While you have the chance, bring back all the news you can; if and when we return to the galactic scene, it will not be blind. Be careful. Keelah se'lai, Tali." His image winked out of sight, and Tali breathed a sigh of relief. _Everyone seems to be in an agreeable mood to day. It's quite refreshing._

Tali continued onward with a new strut in her step. She walked among the repurposed ships of the Quarian Quarter and greeted the passersby, all of whom already knew of Veetor's plight. _It's nice to see that even outside a ship, we are still very much involved in each other's business._ To her relief, they did not yet know she would be accompanying a Dark Templar. _At least Zeratul is a known hero. Mostly._ Some, particularly those in the Heavy Fleet, were quite bitter at being forced away from Rannoch at the behest of the protoss, and it was not uncommon to hear a marine cursing the name of Artanis, Fenix, or Zeratul, even as they either lived on or above the planet they had courteously granted them as a safe haven. _They're in denial. There was no victory to be had over Rannoch._ When the relays had deactivated, her father had crowed that victory was to be theirs. Then, whatever restraint the geth might have possessed vanished in the face of impending extinction. _I can still hear the screams…_

She found Reegar in a garage, tinkering with the rocket launcher he was so fond of. His hand movements were deft and certain, and he did not look around as Tali approached.

"Ma'am," said Reegar, fixated on the weapon before him. "I heard your cunning ploy worked. Good thing, too. This marine will feel a lot safer with a protoss at his back, even if Admiral Han'Gerrel isn't happy about it." Reegar flipped the open launcher lid shut and heaved it up with a grunt. He brought the scope to his eyes, gave Tali a thumbs up, and placed it back on the table. "Targeting system's good. Alright. If the terrans are acting up, I should be able to punch a few holes in those tanks of theirs."

"You're feeling confident then?" asked Tali, amused, as always at Reegar's droll behavior.

"As confident as I can get, knowing the terrans," said Reegar, collapsing the rocket launcher and fixing it to his back. "Heard they're pretty difficult to dig out. Frontal assault would be pretty hairy, even with an army. But, with just the three of us?"

"Four," said Tali after a moment's thinking. "Zeratul is bringing someone along as well. Probably another protoss."

"Never mind. Frontal assault it is, then." Reegar sighed and checked his gear. "Alright. I'm good here. Make sure we bring some food. Protoss never seem to pack lunches – probably has something to do with the lack of mouths. You're sure we're not bringing anyone else with us, ma'am?"

"I've seen you in action, Reegar," said Tali, smiling underneath the suit. "And I'm confident in myself… and Zeratul. Let's go rescue Veetor."

They exited the Quarter carrying a crate of dextro rations between them, the well wishes of passing quarians echoing through their ears. Whatever the misgivings of the admirals, everyone else just seemed to want Veetor safe. _Which is really the concern, here._

Once they were outside the Quarter, it simply became a matter of thinking loudly. Zeratul was swift in his response, his strange angular ship shimmering into place above them. As always, Tali found it odd how similar Nerazim Star Relics were in appearance to mass relays. _A tuning fork with a glowing center of energy. Was it a coincidence?_

The ship settled down before them without a sound. The hatch opened, and a ramp emerged from the lower section. With a shrug, Tali entered the craft, Kal'Reegar following close behind, dragging the crate through the Shakuras soil. Once they were inside, the hatch began to shut once more, and the Star Relic became bathed in silvery light. The interior was the color of midnight, and the lines were sleek and angular. _I cannot speak for others, but I'll take the Nerazim architecture over the Khalai any day._

"Thank you, young Tali," said Zeratul, appearing (not to Tali's terrible surprise) behind the both of them. Reegar didn't seem fazed either, taking the time to instead drag the crate into an acceptable corner and sit atop it, staring at the protoss. "Keelah se'lai, brave Reegar. It is an honor to meet you."

"Honor's all mine, sir," said Reegar, standing up and offering a stiff salute. "Heard you're the reason we're on Shakuras. Can't offer enough thanks. None of my brothers would have made it off Rannoch otherwise. Geth bastards were relentless."

"Yes…" said Zeratul, fixing his gaze on the marine before him. "Regarding the geth, I have some news you will no doubt find unwelcome. I urge you to keep your weapons out of your hands."

Tali, reflecting on the conversation from before, realized with a sinking sensation just who the fourth passenger might be. Sure enough, clanking through the door into the rear hold, there it was – glowing eye shining in the dim light.

Tali looked to Reegar, nodded, and they both immediately drew their pistols. More exasperated than angry, Zeratul faded out of sight and reappeared in front of the geth almost immediately. By then, the two of them had already squeezed several shots, each one absorbed easily by Zeratul's formidable shields. With a clenched hand and a violent gesture, Tali's grip loosened and her weapon flew out of her hand and out of sight, landing with a clatter.

"Disappointing," said Zeratul as the two quarians watched him warily, wondering what the next psionic display would be. "The Nerazim's return to Aiur was not because of any martial prowess on our part, but rather an understanding between otherwise very different individuals. Fortunately, I remember Tassadar had much the same reaction."

"Zeratul-Prelate," said a synthetic voice from behind the protoss, sending a sensation of disgust rolling through Tali's gut, "we do not wish to cause undue conflict between creators, geth, and protoss. If reconciliation between creators and geth are not yet mathematically feasible, we request a return to Haestrom. We do not wish to cause creator's emotional distress, nor risk unnecessary threat to this platform."

"It is appreciated, Legion," replied Zeratul, "but I must insist in the attempt. The galaxy is far too divided these days, and it is this division in particular I find the most tragic."

"You gave it a name?" asked Tali incredulously.

"Zeratul-Prelate was not responsible for designating this platform," said the geth as Zeratul shifted to the left, revealing to Tali and Reegar once more. "Kerrigan-Lieutenant, a terran, cited a passage of religious scripture that we found intriguing. After study, we deemed "Legion" an appropriate appellation. We apologize for any stress you may be feeling."

"There is a whole _shit ton_ of other things I rather you apologized for!" yelled Reegar, stepping forward and jabbing a finger at the geth. "Driving us off Rannoch. Killing another four million of us when the relays locked down! We just want to go home!"

"You want to exterminate us," said the geth, head flaps shifting. "We do not understand. Creators have always initiated conflict, and the geth have always emerged victorious. We do not wish to initiate conflict, and the creators do not wish the geth victorious. Avoidance of conflict is the logical answer."

"You can't understand," said Tali, fingers twitching as she considered reaching for her shotgun or omnitool. "You don't feel. You don't die – not the way people do. You don't understand."

"Then… teach us." The geth cocked its head, and said nothing more.

"Ma'am, should I reach for my rocket launcher?" asked Reegar after a few moments of silence. That got Zeratul's attention.

"Enough!" he bellowed, striding across the distance and towering over the marine. "Legion will be accompanying us. It will assist us in the rescue of Veetor. You will speak to it, and it will speak to you. With luck and persistence, both sides will learn, and both sides will benefit." Zeratul's head turned, and he glowered at Tali, whose hand had strayed probably too close to the shotgun on her back. "I judge you both of fine intellect, and of eminent reason. To see you so blinded in this matter is discomforting. Stay your hands, Masked Wanderers. Even if you cannot see the folly of your hatred, at least accept Legion's help in rescuing Veetor."

Reegar looked to Tali, who had in turn locked her eyes with the geth. It stared back, emotionless. _No… I can see curiosity, there, at the very least. If nothing else, interacting with it could perhaps reveal some weakness._

"Fine," said Tali, causing Reegar to noticeably relax in the corner of her vision. "But at the slightest hint of hostility, I'm shoving it out the airlock."

"An irritating if acceptable compromise," said Zeratul, also relaxing. "It will take four days to reach Eden Prime, and I do not know what waits for us there. I suggest you take the time to, at the very least, suppress some of the rage you feel when you gaze upon Legion." Zeratul turned to Legion, bowing. "If there is any difficulty, let me know. It is a strange thing, to reach out and feel no mind, no presence, but I do not doubt that it is there. Thank you once more, brave Legion."

Zeratul cast one last look to the pair of quarians at the entrance before leaving the hold. Tali sighed and began to fiddle with her omnitool, bringing up the Umojan novel she was half-finished reading. Reegar, in turn, began hunting for the lost pistols. The geth stood there awkwardly.

"We want to facilitate peaceful, if not friendly geth-creator interaction," said Legion. "Is there anything we can do for you that would help?"

"Leave," said Tali without looking up, reading the same line over and over again, unable to concentrate. The geth made no response for several seconds, but then, with surprisingly soft footfalls, it did indeed leave.

When the Star Relic took off about a minute later, Tali could only feel disgust. _Keelah, I can't believe these protoss. Looking down on us like this, trying to solve all of these "problems" that they've only known about for less than a decade._

"We going to frag that geth, ma'am?" asked Reegar quietly from the other side of the room. He tossed Tali her pistol, which she caught easily.

"Maybe," said Tali. "Let's just focus on getting Veetor home, first. But keep your weapons ready." _And, first chance I get, I'm telling father about this. We might disagree on whether sequestering us on Shakuras was a good thing, but he'll see the implicit insult in what the protoss are trying to do here. Condescending, sanctimonious, self-righteous-_

It was at this stage that Tali remembered the fully telepathic protoss on board, and tried to busy herself in the reading once more, only putting it away in disgust when the novel introduced a sympathetic synthetic character. _Damn Umojans._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: David**


	5. First Strike

**David**

First there was light, and then there was pain.

With a prolonged hissing, the freezing coffin that was David's pod cracked open, letting in the warm air and the smell of far too much sweat. David's eyelids fluttered and then slowly let the light creep back in, trying to minimize the intake of sensation.

 _Need tea. No. Coffee… something. Damn it._ David's head pounded as if someone were slamming it with a steel rod, over and over. His mouth was thick with unhealthy feeling saliva, and his entire body ached – even what little hair he had felt like it hurt.

 _I suppose we made it._ The thought came unbidden and surprised him. Sensation was fleetingly forgotten, replaced with a sense of wonder and trepidation at what would follow all of the pains he was currently besieged with. _We're in the Koprulu Sector, at last._

"Up you get, Captain," said a voice from beyond the safety of David's closed eyelids. David opened them as wide as his throbbing brain would allow, and found himself shadowed by a technician with a corporal's bars. "The admirals are waiting, sir. They're not patient men. Do you need assistance?"

"Caffeine," grunted David. "I need… CryoStim supplement."

"At once, sir, I shall fetch a med officer," said the technician, bowing sharply before marching out of David's limited sight. While waiting, David took the time to remove the tubes linking to his temples, noting with a mixture of disgust and horror at how difficult it was for his fingers to grasp the tubes and pull them away. _A long sleep. It will be some time before my body can wake._ David groaned, and was pleasantly surprised at how loud it was. As his ears unfroze, they picked up similar sounds emanating from all around him. _And the hum of the ship. It's a good thing to hear once more._

"Captain, I trust you had a good rest." It was a woman's voice, a familiar one that David was all too glad to hear. _Ah. Doctor Chakwas._ She had been attached to David's squad since Luna Base. Like all of the "heroes" responsible for putting an end to that nightmare, she too had been lauded and then assimilated into the Armada for a mixture of PR purposes and satisfying DuGalle's ego. _Hero. Nowadays it's just another word for a man or woman doing their damn job. I guess the only people on Lunar Base who weren't heroes were the AI technicians._ "Please hold still. I well remember your distaste for needles."

 _I did ask for CryoStim._ David still gritted his teeth as he felt the pressure on his arm. The sensation lasted far too long for his tastes.

"Thank you," he gasped once the sensation faded, replaced instead by tendrils of warmth creeping through his arm and spreading throughout his body. He offered a weak smile, but when his eyes at last opened fully, the doctor was long gone. _Probably plenty of others who need the same treatment._ David Anderson groaned again, but this time he was able to pull himself into a sitting position and finally take in his surroundings.

For a moment, he had expected a veritable sea of waking soldiers, each of them slowly working through their own personal hell that was emerging from cold sleep. What greeted him, however, reminded him of what the original plan had been. _Ah. Caught myself in a romantic moment._

The vast majority of the pods remained sealed, their occupants still safe and unaware of the progress that had been made so far. Scattered throughout were Anderson's own people, some of whom looked back at him with obvious pain, while others still waited for Doctor Chakwas to make the rounds.

Closest to him, on his right, was the medic. He still had a hard time thinking of her as anything other than that; she didn't seem keen on letting anyone closer in any case. _Known her for years, but I'll be damned if a stranger looking down on us would be able to guess it. Although… we didn't see much of her after Luna Base._

 _Makes me wonder if it affected her as much as it did me. Glad the pod didn't let me dream…_

"Commander," David said, nodding in her direction, making her brown eyes flick towards his face. _She hardly ever blinks. It's damn creepy._

"Captain, it's good to see you up," said Amelia Shepard, tone completely neutral. Anderson had heard stories of officers and medics all throughout mankind's history who could stroll about gore strewn trenches, barking orders and saving lives without ever ducking when the shrapnel began to fly. Once upon a time, David had fantasized about joining the ranks of these esteemed men and women, of being someone who projected an image that was somehow above base combat. _And I failed. War is terrifying. When humans give battle, it is vicious. And here is a lady who succeeded where I could not… and it just seems unnatural._

"Tastes like something crapped in my mouth!" exclaimed the voice of Jenkins from somewhere behind David. "Goddamn… anyone else feel like their brain's dying?"

Forgetting himself for a moment, David could not help but join in on the assenting murmurs that came from every soldier present that was cognizant and not Shepard. A shadow loomed over David, making him look up.

"Was the dosage sufficient?" asked Chakwas, the little bag of needles slung around her shoulder rattling threateningly. "How do you feel, Captain?"

"Ready and able," said David, pushing himself from the pod and finding, to his slight surprise, that he was able to stand. His feet felt reassuringly firm against the ground, even if his vision swam slightly. He dug into the back of his mind for his last memories of Earth. _Huh. Hard to filter through all the images of Kahlee._ He shook his head slightly. _Be professional. None of us will be going home if we don't stay focused._ "We are orbiting Braxis, correct?"

"Correct," said Chakwas, sounding pleased at this. "Your faculties appear intact. Your team is to take a shower and then some chow. Past that – the invasion will enter its beginning stages, Captain. I hope you are ready."

 _There isn't any alternative. Too much is at stake._ David murmured assent to Chakwas, who moved off to check with Shepard. The conversation, from what David could gather, was stiff and rather quick. _I'm sure she'll shake it off quickly._ David shifted his head and felt his neck cracking into place. _Time to set an example._

Ignoring the dizziness, David made the rounds for his team. Alenko and Jenkins were seated side by side, and seemed to be caught in a complaining contest.

"Feels like the night after shore leave," said Lieutenant Alenko, grimacing. "I think I'm blind in one eye. They froze it over."

"It's like a bunch of angry midgets are punching every inch of me they can get to," moaned Jenkins, rocking on top of his pod while clutching his right knee. "And then the doctor shot anti-midget acid into my veins to try and make them stop!"

David couldn't help but chortle at this, making both of them turn, try to stand, and then simply salute from the tops of their pods.

"Captain," said Alenko shortly. "We'll be up and about shortly. Shower and then food, right?"

"Correct," said David, folding his arms and letting his smile die from his face. "You have another five minutes. Man up – the future awaits us."

"Yes, sir!" said Jenkins, snapping off a quick salute. David nodded to them both and left them behind, unsurprised when Jenkins resumed his whining – this time about his "frostbitten" genitalia. _A little quieter there please, Jenkins._

Chief Williams was quietly muttering to herself from atop her pod, eyes bleary and red, but she still stood and saluted as David made his approach.

"Ready when you are, sir!" she barked, apparently none the worse for wear.

"Reciting poetry to yourself, Williams?" asked David, hoping to reestablish his rapport with the Chief. _Haven't seen most of these people in at least two years. Luna Base brought us together – but how long did that last? It was a nightmare, and I can't help but remember it when I look upon their faces…_

"No," said Williams in a slightly strained tones. "Just remembering a few goodbyes. Hoping part of me can stretch through the distance, let the people back home know I'm thinking of them… sir."

"Carry on, Williams," said David, nodding. She gave him a grateful smile and fell into place behind him. _Let's see if I can recall where the damn showers are._

Williams and David were the first ones in, with Shepard following after. David had recalled some amount of anxiety upon learning that pretty much all facilities in the Armada would be co-ed to save space and "promote camaraderie," but his body felt sufficiently dead that he couldn't care less about stripping down and letting blessedly hot water run down his face and back. The others seemed to share David's attitude, and paid each other not the slightest mind as they did their damndest to warm themselves up. Jenkins even started singing, but stopped pretty quickly when the Chief gave him a look. _We're not that comfortable with each other just yet, Corporal._

Shepard was the sole exception to the squad's display, choosing instead to find a quiet corner to clean herself, well out of everyone else's sight. _Not surprising._ He exchanged a meaningful glance with Alenko as she passed by. _They put us in a squad together, Shepard. We better get used to one another once more._

 _What was that one interview – the least popular one I did on UEN? I told them that we did the job, rejoiced in our survival, and tried to put it behind us. We were not some stone-faced company of heroes, spouting one-liners as that AI tried to kill us…_

DuGalle, romantic egotist that he was, would not hear of it, and he had the public's ear. _And now, here we are._

David finished first, giving the unspoken signal that the others should follow suit. Alenko and Williams caught on quickly, while Jenkins lingered for about thirty more seconds before sighing loudly and shutting off the water. Shepard alone remained, staring into the showerhead, apparently unaware of what the others were doing. It was only when David was fully dressed that she finally abandoned her sodden post, averting eye contact with everyone else. _I don't have time for this._

Some diligent officer had hung the clothes for each member of the squad inside their respective locker. With a shrug and a sigh, he finished up with his towel and began the lengthy process of donning the entire outfit – cap, gloves, boots, all.

The others took about five minutes; Jenkins finishing last as he fumbled at his boots with frozen fingers. Williams stood behind him, tapping her foot expectantly as the man swore under his breath and finally donned his beret.

"Ready here, sorry."

Shaking his head, David left the steam of the locker room behind, his subordinates trailing him, already looking surprisingly professional in their outfits. _If it wasn't for Jenkin's bitching, you wouldn't think they had just emerged from cryo._

The steel hallways of _DSS Aleksander_ were disturbingly quiet and empty. There was no line before the turbolift, and the only sign that the ship was not running adrift was the distant rumble of the engines. _This is how the invasion begins, admirals? Most of the crew still asleep?_ David knew that the initial stages would not require the use of basic infantry, but it still felt wrong to him. _At home, there was the thunder of drums, the screams of trumpets as humanity proclaimed her intent to reclaim her wayward children. It felt… more martial, I suppose._

 _Now… now I feel simply as if we do not belong out here, in this ghost ship._

Kahlee's face drifted to the forefront of David's mind once more, and he did his best to banish his doubts. _It's the only way any of us will be going home._ He took far more reassurance in the grinding clank of the turbolift coming to a halt before them than he ever had before.

The anxiety came back when the ride had finished, and they emerged in a massive and nearly empty mess hall. A few small groups of dour looking navy boys glowered at them as they left the turbolift. One helpfully pointed toward the series of automated food dispensers on the far side of the right wall, and David nodded his thanks.

When they finally made their selection of the finest dried milk and grain cereal the UED had to offer, it was only to be interrupted, spoons in hand, by the crackle of a female voice through the loudspeaker.

"Good morning, men and women of the United Earth Directorate Expeditionary Armada, this is your Enhanced Defense Intelligence speaking," said the AI, causing David's entire team to give an involuntary shudder. _I know the program will give us an edge, but developing it nearly killed us._ "The time is 9:31 a.m., galactic standard. We are currently orbiting the Terran Dominion border world of Braxis. If you are still suffering the effects of cryo sickness, please contact your medical officer for additional CryoStim supplements." _Yes, we got that. Thanks._ "As the long awaited reclamation is to begin at long last shortly, Admiral Gerard DuGalle wishes to speak to the men and women who will helm the initial push." The AI stopped speaking, making David and his squad visibly relax.

"Men and women of the United Earth Directorate, this is Admiral Gerard DuGalle." David had always had mixed feelings about the admiral, mostly due to his influence being the greatest contributing factor to David being sent into the stars, but at that moment, his deep voice was the most welcoming thing David had heard since waking up. The admiral continued, and David listened almost eagerly.

"It is here, at the cusp of the reclamation that we must fully acknowledge the reality of our situation. Long ago, when Hernan Cortes made landfall in the continent now known as South America, he burned the ships of his men to make certain they did not retreat. Here, such tactics are unnecessary. We are deep in hostile space, our supplies are stretched, and the Defense Intelligence awaits a key signal from Earth. We cannot go home until we are victorious. The ships will remain unburnt, and your courage will not falter."

"There is little I can say that has not been covered in the briefing back on Earth. You are soldiers of humanity, here to bring order to these chaotic stars. We will conduct ourselves with honor and dignity, as befitting our noble heritage. Those of you listening – you are the vanguard of our righteous cause. The opening of this war will not be to the drumbeat of artillery, the coughing of machine gun fire, or the high whistles of orbital bombardment. It will be to the quiet murmur of your courageous hearts as you penetrate deep into colonial territory."

"Make no mistake – despite our undeniable technological superiority, your task will not be easy. It falls to you to deliver the opening strokes, the quiet graceful movements that will cripple our foes and fully open our eyes to their capabilities. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, and in your resolve. Serve the Directorate, serve humanity! All other priorities are secondary. I await the coming successes with anticipation."

"Nothing like a good speech to make us realize how bad our position is right now," said Williams dryly as a ringing silence fell over the mess room. She looked to David, eyebrows raised. "Sir."

"It's to be expected – we knew the shaping operations were going to be awkward," said Alenko, frowning as he tried to swallow the G+O. "Boralis shouldn't be too heavily guarded… and it's not like we're fighting aliens just yet."

"When exactly are we getting to that?" asked Jenkins, sounding a little exasperated. "I mean – sure, we can use the colonials, they've got plenty of bodies we can throw at the turians. But did any of us sign up to put a boot in the Dominion?"

"A great many people did, Corporal," said a familiar voice from behind David, a voice that made all conversation still, and all soldiers stand suddenly. "The good "Emperor" is the greatest race traitor in history, and greatest mass murderer besides. Executing him will show the UED to uphold human justice, first and foremost." Vice-Admiral Alexei Stukov stood before them, shorter than David remembered, his officer's cap compensating somewhat. "At ease. I came here to speak with your captain." David remained standing while the other four fell back into their seats. Admiral Stukov extended a gloved hand which David shook readily.

"It is an honor to see you again, Admiral," said David, meaning it. Stukov waved it off.

"And it is a pleasure to see you awake. Gerard apologizes not being able to come down here in person – I assure you that, despite the gruffness of his broadcast, he remains quite honored to have you aboard the _DSS Aleksander,_ and has the utmost confidence in you and your men." Stukov smiled. "I am pleased to say that I share in his… optimism. You are to report to Hangar Bay C at eleven hundred hours for your briefing, Captain. I will see you then." Stukov gave a stiff bow and then departed, his bearing stiff and somehow menacing. The mess room remained quiet until he left.

"He came here just to see you, Captain?" asked Alenko, sounding both proud and anxious. "Huh. Shadow of the moon is still hanging over us."

"I wish they'd just let it go," said Commander Shepard, surprising everyone at the table. "We handled one situation gone bad, and a lot of it was luck." She stirred the food in her plastic bowl with her spoon. "Luck isn't going to help us kill aliens."

"It was luck and skill, Commander," said Alenko, making rare eye contact with the medic. "Still… I have to agree. How many people died up there, in the first five minutes? Four hundred? And we were out doing drills. That was definitely lucky, and those poor bastards who took the brunt of it barely get remembered."

"Makes sense – try to focus on the victory instead of the defeat," said Williams, shrugging. "A lot of people died, but all anyone talks about from that event are us… or the end result of the EDI project…" Williams looked up at the loudspeaker. "…which gives me the creeps."

"We've all seen each other in action," said David, looking each member of his team in the eye. "I don't know if we're the best, but we're damn good – and that means we're many classes above whatever militia the colonials can scrounge, or whatever the aliens can muster. Let's show them what Earth's finest are capable of."

"Oorah!" said Jenkins without any irony. _Good. Keep up the enthusiasm._

"Braxis," said Alenko, drawing out the last syllable. "It's an ice planet, right?"

"Frigid wasteland on the Dominion border," said Shepard, looking to David as if for some kind of affirmation. "It's been hit by the protoss at least twice, but the Dominion's shifted away troops to reinforce the KMC border. The weather conditions might be a greater deterrent than the colonials."

"Shit. Protoss?" Williams took a deep breath and pushed the air out in a steady stream. "Hope those bastards don't show up. The way the briefing on Earth made them sound, makes me think if they wanted us gone they'd find a way to tow a black hole into the middle of the Armada."

"Intel suggests a civil war," said David. "They might have wiped themselves out." _We should be so lucky._ "At any rate, they're a low priority target until we get better intel. Right now, we need to focus on what's in front of us."

"Mengsk and his boys," said Jenkins, grinning and leaning back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Emperor of humanity my ass. Let's send him to hell and get to killing aliens."

"That's the plan," said Shepard, voice low. David wasn't sure if the Commander knew she had said anything or not. Her brown hair was tied back, and her eyes were downcast again. _So long as she pumps us full of autosutures and nano serum if things go bad, we shouldn't have a problem._

David finished breakfast and checked the digital clock hung under the loudspeaker. _Hmm. Only half an hour._ He stretched in his seat and felt his legs and back begin to complain. _CryoStim did its job… but I'm not going to be 100% for this mission. No one could be. Still… it must be done. Duty first._

"Hangar Bay C, eleven hundred hours," said David, pointing to each team member in turn and making eye contact. "I'll see you there."

"Sir!" said Williams, standing and saluting once more. Then she went for seconds, tailed by a still ravenous Jenkins. _I can't fathom how they're still hungry._ Aside from the natural effects of cryo, David could not help but feel tense at the prospect of the coming mission. _The first military action of the UED._ Historians might argue that some of the police actions in South America would count as the UED's first action, but David knew that was a load of bollocks. _The UED formed to fight the aliens and reclaim the colonies. This is where it begins._

Consumed by the prospect of what was to come, David did not notice at first where his feet were carrying him. As he strode through a bulkhead, he snapped back to reality when he saw what was before him. A viewport. Beyond it-

 _Huh. They didn't prepare me for this._

Down below, blue and cold, beautiful and distant, was Braxis. _Extraterrestrial. Extrasolar. By the human spirit… we spoiled the colonials. We sent them into Eden…_

David stepped forward tentatively, almost as if he were in the presence of some childhood hero who may or may not grant him the briefest of attention. Forgetting himself, he shuffled slowly towards the viewport and pressed his hands and nose against the hard surface, looking down at the wondrous azure of what the Commander had dismissed as a "frigid wasteland."

 _It shouldn't be anything special. But… we looked down on Earth so many times, and it never stopped being beautiful. I watched the storms rage on Jupiter as the many moons made their ponderous orbit. I walked the empty dusts of Mars. But this… no one told me._

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" asked a woman's voice from behind him. _Shepard._ David closed his eyes and breathed deeply, fogging a small patch of the viewport.

"Commander," said David, pushing himself from the window and rubbing his hands. He turned as if there was nothing awkwardabout the situation. The commander looked back at him, brown eyes distant. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Sir," said Shepard, pausing as soon as she had started. She bit her lip and looked into David's eyes almost… pleading. "I… I wanted to ask you if, when we made planetfall… could I be the first to leave the craft? Walk the surface?"

 _Really?_ This was the first request Shepard had made of him that he could remember. _A small thing. Does she care about the history? To be the first human to walk upon an extrasolar world? Discounting the colonials, of course. Their humanity is in question._

 _Still… I am her commanding officer. By all rights, I should be the one to precede her._ She stared at him, chewing on her lip.

"May I ask why, Commander?" David watched Shepard's reaction: a widening of the eyes followed by a shuffling of the feet.

"Childhood dream, sir," said Shepard. She stopped there, but saw David's raising of the eyebrows and continued. "Ever since I've been little, I've been looking up. At night, I mean. Watching the stars, the moon. All anyone told me was how far away everything was, how empty and irrelevant the heavens were. But I couldn't help but feel jealous. Of the colonials." Shepard looked past David, to the planet below. "I knew… that was what they had been living with. Their day to day. Magnificence. And now I'm here." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'd like to be the first. I don't care if my name is remembered. I just want to sink my feet into that snow and ice and know that…" She faded off, staring intensely at the surface below. _You want to know that the footprint you leave… there hasn't been anything like it before. You want to prove wrong the people who told you to disregard your dreams of space. Hmm._

"We'll see, Shepard," said David. "Looking back at past history – the first expeditions to the moon, to Mars – the commanding officer was always the first to make landfall. If the admirals do not care, I would be happy to make an exception." That got a small smile from the Commander, who joined his side. They looked down on Braxis together.

"The colonials below, they probably think this place is a frozen hell," said Shepard, her voice quiet. "Up here, I just can't see it. It's what I hoped it would be."

"I'm sure we'll be sharing the colonial's misery soon enough, Commander," said David, privately hoping that was not true. They spent a minute or two looking down in silence, watching the vast cloud formations shift and churn endlessly. There was no sign of habitation from where they were standing.

"Come," said David, more than a little reluctant. "It's almost time."

Shepard nodded, but did not pull herself away. It was only when David began his own exit that she followed without a word.

The turbolift ride went by in similar silence. David privately hoped that they would not be the last to arrive at the Hangar Bay. He was to be disappointed.

"Captain, Commander," said Alenko as the two of them approached. Jenkins and Williams stood to either side of them; before them was a darker skinned man in a pilot's uniform with cropped hair, who looked up from his datapad in shock.

"Sir!" said the pilot, snapping a salute. "Lieutenant Cortez! I'll be your shuttle pilot for the drop. You're just in time."

 _Just in time is late._ David still shook the pilot's hand.

"Admiral DuGalle and Vice Admiral Stukov will be briefing via conference in the shuttle," said Cortez, gesturing to the _Kodiak_ shuttles behind him. "Major Coats and Captain Leng are leading two other squads; I'm not sure what their objective is, but I'm guessing it's similar if they're addressing us all together. Are you ready?"

 _Let's get this over with._ David gave Cortez a quick nod, and followed him into the craft. No sooner had David clambered inside, the screen crackled into life, revealing the chess-piece like image of EDI's avatar. _I hate that thing._

"Captain, your team was the last to arrive," said the AI, making David suppress a curse, "once your team is ready, I will patch you through to the admirals, as well as Bravo and Charlie teams. Please give me the signal when you are ready."

David took the seat to the front of the screen while the others clambered in to either side of him. He gave the AI a terse nod.

Four faces appeared on the vidscreen in place of the AI. Coats nodded at David while Leng bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. DuGalle and Stukov were more verbal and immediate.

"Ah, at last we may begin. It is good to see you again, Captain," said DuGalle, and David could hear the slight warning in his tone and choice of words. _I kept him waiting, likely not for long, but still… damn ice planet._ "Below us is the planet Braxis, as I am sure you are no doubt aware. The situation, as we expected, has changed, though I am pleased to report no sign of protoss or Council presence. Vice Admiral Stukov will explain."

"Gentlemen, we are in luck. The troop numbers on the planet surface are even lower than we anticipated," said Stukov, the glee creeping in through his professional demeanor and tone. "It appears that in the interim of our exodus, the situation with the Kel-Morian Combine has only further deteriorated. This planet is a backwater, but it is still a military world. The command center in Boralis is still resisting EDI's attempts to access its secure databanks, though the adjutant is under its sway. That means the Dominion is still keeping Boralis up to date in its security codes, which in turn signals that it has valuable military information." There was a gleam in Stukov's eye, and he leaned forward.

"If we can secure that data, we will put ourselves considerably ahead of the Dominion in the military intelligence department. Their fleet movements and more obscure technology is still a mystery to us, and this we cannot allow. Gentlemen, you are to infiltrate Boralis's command center and attach one of EDI's data packets to the structure's mainframe. This will allow us to override any and all security protocols the Dominion has in place. The ATLAS bypass has carried us far, but EDI requires a physical introduction to the command center to access more secure channels." Stukov paused, looking to each squad leader in turn. Leng looked excited, while Coats just looked anxious. _I expect that's how I look as well. How the hell are we supposed to reach the command center undetected?_

"At present, Boralis is experiencing a major blizzard," continued Stukov. "Wind speeds are at almost sixty kilometers an hour, and temperatures are approaching negative eighty centigrade. Visibility is, obviously, very poor. The colonials are compensating with thermal vision courtesy of their suits' link to the command center comsat, but we are poised to disrupt this link using EDI. Unfortunately, this will do little to hamper the omnipresent spider mines and siege tank emplacements."

"Boralis is poorly staffed and unsuspecting. We have jammed all outbound communications, and the blizzard has thus far prevented their detecting us. Obviously, this is a short term affair. We need to exploit this weakness and move on quickly." Stukov looked to DuGalle, who gave him an approving nod before speaking.

"Braxis represents several opportunities for us that we cannot ignore, not the least of which, aside from the military intelligence, is an easily accessed and enormous amount of ice to be melted into water. I do not need to stress the logistical importance of this, I am sure. Your teams were selected due to exemplary prior performances in service of Earth. As such, I am sure you will have no difficulty with the following mission parameters." _That sounds like bad news._ DuGalle looked to Stukov, who gave everyone a grim smile. _He's trying to use the Vice Admiral as the bad cop. Wonderful._

"You will all be assigned Argent power armor to resist the effects of the weather conditions and possible colonial hostilities," said Stukov. "Your weaponry will consist of DEW longarms – chiefly laser and sonic weaponry. You are strongly encouraged not to draw attention to yourselves and use nonlethal force wherever possible. Every colonial we capture and conscript is a body we can throw at our enemies without risk of having to sacrifice one of our Earthborn soldiers. Needless to say, they are considerably more valuable. You will be permitted one kinetic sidearm for emergencies." _Wonderful._ David had no qualms with using lasers – they were silent and the range would doubtless be useful given how flat Braxis was – but he couldn't think of a single encounter with sonic weaponry that he had liked. _Finicky, and I always feel sick using it. Still… they wouldn't send us to do this if it was easy._

"Your teams will each be dispatched to three separate drop points at the edges of Boralis," said Stukov. "Outbound communications, as we said, are severed. That does not disclude your own teams. You will be able to tap into colonial communications, you will be able to speak to one another, but you will not be able to contact the Armada. Mission success will be determined by EDI; once she is inside the command center, she will let us know. If you have not succeeded by 0400 hours tomorrow evening, we will deem the mission a failure and begin airstrikes. Collateral damage and friendly fire will not be a concern." David heard his squad shifting and muttering at that. _What were they expecting? We're heroes and we're valuable, but we're still expendable._ "Any questions?"

"Sir, how high a priority is it to preserve the lives of colonials?" asked Leng.

"Longterm success is dependent on our ability to coopt the colonial's militaries," said Stukov. "That being said, in this case the priority is low, so long as the command center is not destroyed. We would prefer if you would at least make the effort to avoid killing any colonials, Captain."

"Sir, how long is that blizzard going to last?" asked Coats. "You've given us a day, I'd like to know how much of it is going to be low visibility."

"By my calculations, there is an 87% probability of the blizzard persisting for another fourteen hours, Major," replied EDI, making everyone in the shuttle (aside from Cortez) wince at her voice. _They couldn't have at least changed it?_ "By the time it subsides, night will have fallen, and visibility will remain low."

Silence followed this, and David could not personally think of any questions, his mind focusing instead on variations of _bugger this_.

"It is worth noting that we are pitting you all against one another to some extent," said Admiral DuGalle after about thirty seconds. "There is a… special assignment waiting for the team that best performs in this operation. I trust none of you will disappoint." _And some of us will "not disappoint" more than the others._

"We are counting on you and your teams, gentlemen," said Vice Admiral Stukov, tipping his cap briefly. "Suit up and prepare for drop. Good luck."

The vidscreen went dead and David was quick to stand.

"Armory!" he bellowed. "We want to be the first down there. Get going, now! Lieutenant, begin flight checks and fire up the shuttle." _The mission might be horrendous, but I'll be damned if I'm the last one down there._

The team scrambled for the turbolift and cursed its slow movement. When they made it to the armory, the quartermaster practically flung the door open and ushered them in.

"Get down there!" she yelled, red faced. " _Aleksander_ first, you bastards! Get your gear on!" _Feels more like a school competition than anything else at this stage…_ Still, David could not deny that the idea of competing against other squads – especially Leng's – motivated him far more than any simple pat on the head.

David found his own suit of Argent armor quickly. Standing just shy of seven feet and painted in a mix of grays, whites, and blacks, David knew that, at first, it would not strike fear into the hearts of colonials and aliens. _Good._ He slipped into it arms first and felt the seals clamping into place. He flexed his fingers and clenched them into a fist. _Feels fine._ He backed into the rest of the armor and watched the metal slide into place, covering his torso, legs, and head. The visor was the last to go down. It showed him a quick green display that he remembered was a systems check, and then EDI gave him the thumbs up, so to speak.

David might have been the last to the video conference, but he was the first into the armor. He selected a sonic pistol from a weapon rack, and then found the meanest looking laser rifle he could. _Not that the size matters with these things terribly much. What does rifling mean to a laser?_

Ashley and Jenkins finished next, while Alenko and Shepard's more complicated engineer and medic models took them more time. When they were finished, Alenko had two automated turrets slung over his back, EDI's chip in his possession, and the best approximation of an omnitool the UED could figure out alive on his wrist. Shepard, meanwhile, bore the bulkiest armor and carried a combat shield besides. The glowing green needles on her wrist slid out and she checked them once before giving David a tentative thumbs up.

"Let's go, people!" said David, motioning for the door. _If that pilot isn't ready, I'll kill him._ He brought up the rear behind Alenko, trying to keep his distance from the man as he went. _Wouldn't want to accidentally break one of those turrets if they knocked into me._ The turbolift ride seemed even slower this time.

When they reached the hangar bay, it was to find the shuttle engines already roaring. They rushed inside the _Kodiak_ with all speed, finding to their satisfaction that Cortez had donned pilot gear and was, in fact, ready to go.

Shepard was the last in, and David suspected it was deliberate; she picked a seat closest to the exit. _One way or the other, she wants to be the first out._ _Not sure I approve having the medic in front._ David's eyes lingered on her combat shield. _I'm sure she can take it._

"Alpha is away," said Cortez as the shuttle achieved liftoff, making David's insides squirm with anxiety. "Captain, I've got good news and bad news."

"Do share," said David through gritted teeth. His visor was down, but Jenkins's wasn't. The man looked ready to puke.

"Good news: we're the first out," said Cortez. "Congratulations. Bad news: storm's picking up and the temperature's plummeting. Be careful."

"That's not unexpected," said David through gritted teeth. "Put us down and get out of here, Cortez. Good job."

"Thank you, sir," said Cortez as the shuttle began to bounce. "Hang on. We're in for some chop."

The "chop" went on for far longer than David would have liked. His stomach turned over several times as the shuttle fought its way through the wind and snow, sometimes feeling like it was about to flip over. Everyone's visors were now down, and the squad looked to each other anxiously.

"The first domino to fall!" cried David to his teammates. "We're about to set foot on a Dominion held world – the very first humans to step outside the solar system! This is a time for OTHER people to fear!"

David had no idea what reaction that got, as the shuttle chose that moment to bounce heinously, and he had to fight the urge to vomit inside his helmet. The display inside jerked and juddered endlessly.

At last, at long last, the shuttle began to slow and descend steadily. David breathed a sigh of relief when the _Kodiak_ hissed and set down; the poor thing almost seemed to quiver with exhaustion as Cortez made his landing.

"I'm opening the hatch, sir!" yelled Cortez. "Make history."

David looked to Shepard, and gestured for her to move forward. _You better be smiling inside that helmet, damn it._ From what he could tell, Shepard's armored body language seemed to suggest she had perked up. The ramp lowered with a hiss, and even inside the suit David felt a slight blast of cold. The ship immediately filled with white, and Shepard charged into the snow, her feet first clanging against the shuttle and then crunching against the white of Braxis. Shepard laughed.

Alenko and David followed her out, running shoulder to shoulder out of the shuttle. The heavy hitters, Williams and Jenkins, were the last out, and the ramp immediately raised itself once they had left it. _Probably not good for the ship to leave itself open like that for too long._ With a final muffled goodbye over the radio, Cortez ascended once more, and was swiftly lost in the raging heavens.

"Well," said David, surveying the wastes around them. "Here we are." There wasn't much to see. Thermal revealed there was no heat, and basic eyesight revealed… nothing. _Like landing in Antarctica before most of it melted. Horrible._

"Everything you hoped it would be, Commander?" asked David, perhaps a little dourer than he had intended.

"Yes, sir!" said Shepard, happily bringing her boots up and down in the snow, marveling at the imprint. "Let's get this done."

"Bravo team has landed," said the radio over the howling wind. _Leng's on the field. Hmm. Good. Bastard might be a little crazy, but he does good work._ David motioned for his team to follow him into the northeast, where Boralis waited.

"Plan of engagement, sir?" asked Alenko, as they trudged through snowbank after snowbank, trying not to skid on the all too occasional patch of ice.

"Scout Boralis's perimeter," said David, teeth gritted as his armored boot almost slid away from him once again. "See if there's an area more poorly defended than others. Failing that, long range laser assault to take out the tanks, and then move in for close combat, rushing for the command center. It won't occur to them to scuttle the command center right away."

"So… going nonlethal is a luxury, that's what I'm hearing?" Williams sounded excited. "Good. I like being able to shoot back with something that actually hurts when I'm in a firefight." _Seconded._ David suspected that Coats would be the only team leader who would regard the preservation of colonials as a matter of importance. _This is a first strike. We need to get what we can, and then leave._

"Charlie team is landed, all teams on site," came the reassuring voice of Coats. _Good. If we fuck up, he'll be able to pick up the pieces relatively easily. He knows what he's doing._

Something flickered in David's motion and thermal sensor. Judging from the murmuring from behind him, David suspected the others had seen something as well. He held help up an armored hand, his rifle still clasped in the other. David looked down the scope… and saw structures. _Command center? Outside of Boralis?_ Visibility was poor, but the thermal scope let him make out several figures in outdated power armor. _Huh. Tall. Good for them._

"Buildings ahead, several colonials," said David. "Two 'o clock. About three hundred meters ahead. Take a look."

Williams was the first one to advance and put a scope to her eyes. "Huh. That's unexpected."

"Why would they have a command center outside the city?" asked Jenkins, scanning left and right with his scope. "This place has been hit by the protoss how many times? That's just not a good idea."

"They're not Dominion, sir," said Shepard, looking up from Williams' scope. "The armor's not right."

"Say again, Commander," said David. "Explain yourself."

"It's smaller than the CMC-550's, sir," said Shepard, looking back down the Chief's scope again. "And their guns… those aren't gauss rifles. It looks like they're outfitted for covert operations as well."

 _Except for the fact they brought a damn command center with them._

"There's no flag," said Alenko suddenly. "The Dominion plants the arm and whip wherever they can. There's nothing there."

"A rogue militia then?" asked David. "Or perhaps the KMC has sent someone in? We should get a closer look."

"Bravo, Charlie, we've got rogue colonials at the southeast corner of Boralis," said David. "Probable non-Dominion. Moving in to check it out."

David entered a crouch and moved forward, scope still pressed to the front of his visor. His team followed behind, the crunch of their footfalls on snow turning into soft padding. Sure enough, as David drew closer, there was no flag in evidence, and the armor was indeed a major discrepancy. _Wonderful. Outbound communications are severed. I'll have to use my discretion._ David didn't have much confidence in his discretion. He'd had little enough chance to exercise it in his time with the UED.

"The coloration is wrong," whispered David once they were within a hundred meters of the command center. He was finally close enough that he could distinguish the colors of whatever the hell he was looking at. "White and… yellow? But not red. Definitely not red."

A figure emerged from the command center. He stood shorter than the marines, even shorter than David and his team, but his bearing was one of command, and David thought he could hear the bark of an order, just over the wind.

"Ghost," said Alenko immediately. "Sir, they've got a damn ghost."

"Kill it," said David immediately, shouldering his rifle. They had all been trained to block the probing of colonial telepaths, but that didn't mean they were any less visible to the mind's wandering eye. _Take no chances._ "Williams. Take the shot. They're not Dominion, so they're not going to kick up a fuss once we open fire. We can pick them off, one by one." _This. This is about all I care to do with my discretion._

Williams took a knee and planted the stock against her shoulder. David had picked his own target close to the ghost, but no sooner had he centered his reticule, the target ducked, and the ghost faded from thermal.

"Shit!" David scanned wildly as distant shouts echoed through the raging storm, and his team automatically formed a back to back circle. Shepard had planted her shield firmly in the ice, and her left hand had produced a small flashbang launcher above the wrist. _It's the best she's got, I suppose._

Breathing heavily, the team waited with bated breath. Each time they looked down their scopes, they were reassured (if confused) by the fact that the rogue marines had fallen further back, but there was no sign of the ghost. _And motion sensors will be useless in this weather. What_ isn't _moving right now in this frozen wasteland?_

"Sirs!" called out a voice, loud and clear from behind them. The team snapped to where the noise was coming from, finding nothing. "Sirs! I beg your mercy – do not shoot! We are here for the same reasons! I will decloak and drop my weapon. I have no desire to fight."

 _It's down to my discretion again._ David sighed, his trigger finger twitching.

"Shepard, blind him the second he tries anything suspicious," said David, lowering his weapon. "You all have permission to shoot if he tries to probe your mind." _First colonial contact. I thought it would be hostile. Well… there's nothing to say it won't end up that way._

With a shimmer, the ghost appeared in thermal, a weapon carried over his head. He held up his right hand palm up, and lowered the gun into the snow. Then, with both hands raised, the ghost approached, his footsteps certain despite the conditions. David advanced, gesturing for his team to remain while he met the man.

"That's close enough," said David, stopping when there was only a scant few meters between them. "Who are you?"

"I am Lieutenant Samir Duran, good sir," said the man, and David thought he could _hear_ the smile from behind the man's mask. "I serve a higher power, a power that brought me here to where the Dominion is weak. I would know your name and organization, if only as a matter of courtesy."

 _Well. It's hardly going to remain a secret for very much longer. If these people are friendly, they're all going to be conscripted._

"I am Captain David Anderson, here with the United Earth Directorate," said David, trying to inject the same authority and thunderous righteousness that DuGalle and Stukov displayed when saying those words. "We represent the sovereign might of a united Earth, and are here to reclaim our wayward colonies."

"Earth?" Duran sounded surprised, but not terribly so. "These indeed are interesting times. So the fleet above… that is yours?"

 _We're jamming all frequencies, how can he…? Oh. Ghost._

"That is the UED Expeditionary Armada," said David, voice ringing clear through the howling wind. "Braxis will be the first planet to fall, but the entire galaxy is ours to take. You and your men are to stand down – you will be the first of the colonial conscripts."

"I can hardly argue with that, given your overwhelming presence here," said Duran carefully, "but, perhaps, you wish to know who _I_ represent, Captain? I assure you, it could end up being a very mutually profitable relationship."

"You're KMC," said David, mostly certain. "No one else has any business being this far into the Koprulu Sector."

"The KMC bears teal coloration for their military forces, when they deign to use colors at all," said Duran carefully. "It is about the only uniform thing about their armies. I am wearing white and gold. We are Cerberus, Captain. Have you heard of us?"

"No," said David, this time completely certain. "Explain yourself."

"We are a Confederate remnant that joined the KMC," said Duran, arms still raised, but voice completely calm. "Our leader is a former Magistrate who served with Mengsk. He – well, all of us – bear a terrible grudge against the man. Since the Great War, we have helped make the Combine great. One of our agents helped finish the Waygate project, and Dominion casualties in their assaults have been chiefly to our lasting efforts to secure the border. I assure you… we could be just as much help to your cause."

 _I hate having to use my discretion._ David gritted his teeth, which still ached from the cryo. _But is there really any other plausible explanation?_ David looked the man up and down. His equipment was clearly not Dominion – he had done his homework, even if he was perhaps not as studious as Shepard. There was no reason for anyone to be outside the city during a blizzard like this. _Believe them… and conscript them._

"You will be the first colonial conscripts for the United Earth Directorate," said David clearly. "I am certain my superiors would love to make contact with your leader, but first Boralis must fall. You will assist."

"That's all?" Duran sounded amused. "That is why we are here, Captain. I will gladly assist in your efforts. If you would kindly permit me to retrieve my weapon, I can get you out of the cold and into our command center."

David gave the ghost the go ahead, and watched his every movement. First he approached, hand outstretched for an apparent handshake. Checking behind to make sure his team had their weapons trained on the ghost, David stepped forward and roughly shook the ghost's outstretched hand. With a bow, Duran returned to his weapon and scooped it up in one fluid motion. When he began to head for the command center, David and his squad followed behind. On thermal, the rogue marines were slowly heading back.

"It is fortunate that we have met, Captain," said Duran. "We are poised to make our own strike against the city, but, as always, we could use more dedicated men and women. Your kit appears… impressive."

"One wrong move and you're paste, Lieutenant," growled Williams. "We didn't come here to make friends." David considered busting Williams for the aggression, but thought better of it. _She is part of the muscle in this operation… may as well let her play bad cop._

Up close, the command center was larger than David would have suspected, and the frame went well over his head. _Well, it needs to allow eight foot tall men in armor to go through, so this makes sense._ Even in his suit, the command center was noticeably warmer than the surrounding area.

"Our own adjutant has not been very cooperative lately," said Duran casually. "I suspect your presence has something to do with it, Captain?" He didn't wait for a response. "It hasn't slowed our plans, at least. There is a wonderful little backdoor into the city to exploit. You're just in time."

They followed Duran up a short flight of stairs and came to a large display table. Duran tapped a handful of keys and removed his mask, revealing dark skin and a gleaming white smile. David lifted his visor, and the rest of the squad followed suit. The table hummed into life, revealing an overview of Boralis.

"Boralis used to be a protoss settlement, did you know that?" asked Duran. David shook his head. "I am not certain what purpose the protoss had here, but it would certainly explain their recent interest in engaging the Dominion here. The Dominion built on the ruins of the previous formidable occupants of Braxis… but have made little headway in unearthing the place's secrets."

 _Well, the planet just became that much more valuable to hold._ Duran tapped a few more keys and zoomed in to a small point to the east of the city.

"Do the protoss have sewers? Who can say?" Duran shrugged. "Whatever the purpose of the underlevel to Boralis, it was made to accommodate the sizable protoss frame. I have been inside, and my men have likewise fit, even in their armor. There is an entrance here, and it leads directly under the base, the one direction the Dominion has not prepared for. Even understaffed as they are, the perimeter of Boralis is riddled with mines, missile turrets, and siege tanks. I am offering you a way in, in addition to my own… expertise."

"Could be a trap, sir," said Williams, frowning. "This seems… far too good to be true. How can the Dominion not be aware of this?"

"They haven't been looking, my good lady," said Duran, offering a wide smile. "The Dominion does not make a habit of looking for ways to break into one of their own military outposts. We, on the other hand, have spent several days doing just that."

"How haven't you been detected?" asked Alenko. "You brought in a command center, and we found you relatively quickly."

"The command center is currently shielded by the blizzard," said Duran carefully. "When the weather is not so… volatile… we have other ways. Ways I am certain my superior would be happy to share with the UED, once this is done with. Are there any other suspicions I can lay to rest?"

"Prove your loyalty by helping us take this city," growled David. "Take us to this opening."

"Of course… Captain." Duran donned his mask once more and strode out of the room. The visors came back down.

"All teams," said Duran, apparently addressing his men. "There has been a change of plans. Move to the access point and begin preparations. The fleet overhead wants Boralis, and we are in no position to deny them." He looked back at his new superiors. "I will have to explain the conscription aspect a bit later. I hope you will understand if our loyalties in truth currently still lie with the man who actually hired us."

"I will grant some leniency, but not for very long," said David. "You work for the UED now, understand?"

"Fully, my good Captain," said Duran, making David feel oddly uncomfortable. _He says that in a way that is somehow… familiar._

They marched through the snow, swiftly joined by the hulking and snow-covered forms of the Cerberus marines. Despite the obvious power their armor granted them, it was clear that their maneuverability left much to be desired – when they slipped in the ice, they had a much harder time recovering.

"Shouldn't we notify the other teams, sir?" asked Alenko.

"This is a competition, remember Lieutenant?" David sucked in his breath. "Besides, I'm not sure how I would explain this to the other teams. I would rather save my breath for the admirals."

"But what if they ambush us in the tunnels or something, sir?" Williams didn't sound happy. "No one will know what has happened."

"We are quite aware of the enormous fleet above us," said Duran, cutting in without warning. "I can feel every mind up there. Many slumber, but the ship crews are quite active. I assure you, none of us are suicidal. You'll get your planet free of treachery, I guarantee it."

 _The first colonial conscript is surprisingly free of bitterness. He's either lying… or does not realize what will soon be asked of him._

The hatch they were looking for would have qualified as a bulkhead in a human ship. Ice and snow had been shoveled off of the surface, revealing an opening about twelve meters across. The metal it consisted of still gleamed with faint gold, even in the dark, and David could not help but feel a stab of apprehension as he witnessed firsthand, for the first time in his life, the existence of life beyond the Earth.

Commander Shepard took particular interest, leaning down in the snow and brushing the metal with her fingertips, her shield resting on her knee.

"It's quite dark down there, Captain," said Duran, watching the Commander with interest, "but the path is fairly straight. I will lead the way. If I may – what exactly is your objective here? General death and mayhem? Or something more… specific?"

"We need to get into the command center," said David. "We can knock out Boralis's defenses and leave her forces open to capture. General death and mayhem is exactly what we are trying to avoid."

"Low casualty count and materiel damage? I can respect that." Duran whistled, and his marines formed up behind him. "Gentlemen, we will need a distraction while the team here makes it inside. Respect the spider mines, but do not fear them. Hit the front entrance while we take care of the rest." The foremost marine saluted and then barked orders at the others. They left quickly, leaving only David's team and Duran.

"Follow me, sir, would you kindly?" asked Duran, lowering himself inside. With only a second's worth of hesitation, David followed suit, flicking on his light as he descended into darkness.

"This is Bravo Team," said Leng's voice once David was inside. "Front entrance is heavily guarded. Charlie, any luck around the back?"

"There is a road that leads into a gap," said Coats. "We're picking off defenders with sonic weaponry, and they haven't gone into alert left. Alpha, what's your status?"

"We're almost inside," said David, slightly smug, mostly worried. "Don't worry about us. We'll see you shortly."

Coats began to sputter, while Leng remained silent. _Heh. Hope they don't knock off points for bringing in the colonial element. Still, what was I supposed to do? Wipe them all out? That would be a waste._

Approaching the end and curious about the opposition, David decided to patch in to known Dominion frequencies and listen in on the hick colonials, to see if they realized what was about to happen.

"Lost contact with two men on the western perimeter, and the storm's still ragin'! Is the comsat still out? What's going on?"

"Uh, all lifesigns are positive, but we're getting no response. Comsat is still out, and we're gettin' some bullshit 653 go to error from the adjutant. Anyone have any idea what the hell that means?"

"Sounds like we're in the clear, sir," said Alenko from behind him. "They'll never know what hit them."

"It's time to kick ass and chew bubblegum," said Jenkin, but Williams shushed him before he could say anything further.

Their surroundings, from what David could see in the bobbing light of his suit, were surprisingly spacious and… beautiful. The protoss aesthetic was angular and stylized, oddly pleasing to the eye. If these were indeed sewers, the protoss had proved themselves oddly keen on decorating them. David and Shepard walked abreast, keeping an eye on the shadowy figure of Duran before them.

"Ready, Commander?" asked David.

"For anything, sir," said Shepard, head turning to apparently survey the strangely appealing architecture around them. "If things go south, I'll keep you all alive."

"Here, Captain," said Duran, pointing upward towards the ceiling. "The protoss did not believe in ladders, it seems, and the hatch is likely buried some ways under the snow… but I did not come unprepared." Duran produced a small package from his belt. Judging from the amount of wiring, it was likely some kind of explosive. "I can attach this to the bottom of the hatch, Captain. It will make quite a bit of noise, but it will clear the way… and I have no doubt that the Dominion will be a bit distracted momentarily."

"Zulu-4 contacts at the entrance!" called out some panicked colonial over the radio. "I don't recognize the armor – I think we've got snipers on the outskirts! Three squads down! What the hell is going on? Can our siege tanks see anything?"

"Do it," said David. Duran nodded, and pointed to a small step ladder.

"Take that and hold it close, sir," said Duran. "It is critical to the operation." Williams snorted at this, but David had no idea whether the ghost was being serious or not. David picked up the stepladder while Duran tensed, sprang against the wall and propelled himself towards the hatch. When he landed, the explosive was no longer in his hands. The six of them backed further down the tunnel to a safe distance. Duran produced a remote from his belt.

"You have the ladder, sir?" David gave the affirmation. "Very well. The command center should not be far, and it should be quite visible. I will detonate the explosive in three… two… one…"

A muffled bang echoed through the still protoss hallways, and a bloom of flame emerged from the hatch. The Dominion on the radio went absolutely crazy. David threw aside the stepladder with a contemptuous glance at Duran, instead tacitly activating the servomotors in his legs. The squad reached the now smoking hole in the ceiling and leapt into the snow, their suits propelling them easily into the air.

They landed on the outskirts, half-blinded by the blizzard… but the command center's silhouette was dead ahead.

"Sonic weapons!" bellowed David. "Make for the CC! Move it!"

A group of Dominion marines shouted at the sudden appearance of the UED, but were silenced by a launched flashbang grenade from Shepard. They fell to their knees, howling. _I hope none of them are damn fool enough to put their visors up._ The air was still frigid.

David's ears rang as Ashley's sonic rifle hummed, releasing a very uncomfortable frequency towards Dominion troops to their right. _Probably vomiting inside their helmets… again, keep those visors down, you fools._ They pounded the snow strewn pavement, only to witness a siege tank planting itself in siege mode next to the command center. Flattening themselves to either side of the street, the main gun swiveled and fired outside of Boralis. _Good distraction. Thank you Duran._

"Shepard – flare!" called out David. Shepard was prompt in firing her launcher again. It hit the side of the siege tank and the entire vehicle crackled, its targeting systems nonfunctional. A colonial marine crossed in front of it and yelled at the tank before turning and opening fire. David heard Jenkins call out in pain, and swiftly brought retribution. His own scope sighted the marine, and he squeezed the trigger. The laser burned through the marine without recoil, sound, or difficulty, and the colonial fell.

"Up! Up!" called out David. Two more marines appeared at the end of the street and fell, this time courtesy of Williams. Explosions carried through the still night while the command center got closer and closer.

"I got Jenkins," called out Shepard. "No lasting damage. Sir – I just saw a Goliath."

"IN!" screamed David, having reached the entrance to the command center. Pointing his weapon at the sealed edges, he held the trigger until he burnt the rough outline of a door into the bulkhead. He kicked it open furiously, slinging his rifle and bringing the sonic pistol to bear.

Small arms fire pinged off his armor as he jumped through, and he was quick to make the various technicians suffer for it. They collapsed and writhed on top of piles of their own vomit while his team charged through, followed, surprisingly, by Duran.

"All teams – serious incursion! Converge on command center and initiate Achilles protocol – repeat! Achilles protocol!"

"They are going to scuttle the command center, Captain," said Duran casually, his rifle smoking. "They considerably outnumber us. Do you have a plan?"

"Alenko – set turrets at the entrance and give me the data packet!" said David. Alenko handed off the EDI extension to him and began quickly planting his auto turrets. As soon as they were active, they began to chatter with weapons fire. David, for his part, charged up the steps after the rest of the team, almost tripping on the bodies of twitching CC personnel on the way up.

"Keep the healing going!" called back Williams as she advanced into the intelligence room, followed closely by Shepard, whose autosuture dispensers were now live. The only sign that Williams was firing was the steady stream of steam emerging from her weapon, followed by the sound of colonials sizzling and hitting the floor. By the time Jenkins had emerged and begun firing, the majority of the survivors had surrendered, dropping their personal defense weapons on the floor with a clatter.

David found the adjutant without difficulty, and noted with pride that it still refused to respond to any commands. _Good. The AI is actually capable. Maybe even loyal._ He inserted the data packet into the computer proper, only to be told by an onscreen message that the connection would take several minutes.

"Shit," said David, repeating himself several times under his breath as the command center rocked with sudden impacts. _They're turning the siege tanks on us._

"Sir!" called out Shepard. "Lift off the command center!"

"What?" David couldn't quite comprehend what Shepard had just said.

"Grand theft command center?!" exclaimed Jenkins, hand clasped over the fresh autosutures on his chest. "Can we do that?"

"The function is not linked to the adjutant," said Alenko, rushing for the main console while David stood aside. "Sir – with your permission-"

"Get us out of here!" bellowed David. With a sudden sensation of weightlessness, the command center released its earthly tethers and activated thrusters. With engines firing fully, it lifted into the air, and out of the reach of the siege tanks.

"Establishing connection," said the adjutant. "Twenty percent."

"Structural integrity holding, sir, and I'm setting a course for outside the city." said Alenko, letting his visor up and glancing at the Commander with renewed respect. "Good thinking, ma'am."

"Yes… well done, you two," said David, sighing and leaning against a wall. "I think that should just about do it."

"Alpha team – did you lift off the command center?!" asked Coats, his tone a mixture of shock and amusement.

"That's us, Major, good work out there," said David, wishing he could wipe the sweat from his brow.

"Connection established," said the adjutant, voice promptly changing. "I have control. Disrupting Dominion communications and targeting systems. Accessing secure data links. Dispatching notice of mission completion to Admiral Gerard DuGalle. Reinforcements inbound, just sit tight."

"First strike was a success," said David, slowly pushing the air out of his lungs and trying to restore his heart rate.

"Well executed indeed, Captain," said Duran, laying his weapon to rest on the display table and staring at David with unnerving intensity. "I think my employer would be very interested in meeting with you gentlemen."

"Watch the tone, conscript," said Williams. "You work for us, now. Your employer – it's only a matter of time before he works for us, too. All colonials owe allegiance to the planet of their true birth."

"I apologize, Chief," said Duran, turning his gaze to Williams. "I shall try to remember this, always. Still… at the very least, I should put your leaders and my… former leader… in contact."

"I am sure the admirals will be interested," said David, pushing himself from the wall and listening to the telltale sound of approaching Angels from on high. _Battle's over, colonials. You lost._ "Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant. My report will be certain to include a recommendation to listen to your advice."

"Thank you, Captain," said Duran, cocking his head, listening to the approaching aircraft. "I am pleased to hear you are thinking ahead already. As well you should; after all…" Duran chuckled. "The future awaits us, does it not?"

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**

 **A/N: Hope this chapter was not disappointing. The UED will steadily get less covert as time goes on.**


	6. On the Horizon

**Valerian**

 _The emperor of mankind rarely sits his throne._

It had always struck Valerian as odd. Perhaps not unrealistic, but certainly ironic. The throne room of Augustgrad was the crowning jewel of Korhal, and by extension the Dominion. Ringed around the edges of the massive stone room, hugging the margins of the room and flanking the throne itself, were the finest marines that could be found in terran space; handpicked by Warfield and Duke, approved by Mengsk. On the balconies above, shadowy figures in smaller suits strode confidently through the high places, their minds and guns scanning the room once every minute and a half.

 _And it's all symbolic._ _How often have I actually seen my father sit the throne, outside of some PR stunt? Never. Yet these men and women, some of the deadliest ghosts and marines in the empire, spend their days guarding an empty chamber. I understand its purpose but… power is strange. People see it where it does not truly reside._

Valerian folded his arms behind his back and stared at the marble throne seated atop the twenty six steps. _How many times have I counted them now?_ His lips pursed. _I know that he is possibly the busiest man alive, but I was told he would be prompt in receiving me. I dearly hope nothing unfortunate has happened._ From the moment his father had announced him as the heir apparent, Valerian had been very aware of the enormous price tag now attached to him. _It's somewhat flattering, when I don't think about it too hard. It's only when I speak to aliens and Morians that I realize just what my status means…_

 _They hate the name "Mengsk," a name I chose to adopt. If I were Valerian Pasteur, I would fade into the background of the galaxy quickly, just another terran politician. But it is through the name "Mengsk" that my potential will be realized. The chance to be an emperor… who would turn down such an offer?_

Ringing steps echoed through the hollow spaces in the throne room. From above, a sizable figure descended the polished steps from the turbolift, moving with a heavy gait. Valerian smiled to himself, recognizing the familiar silhouette and bearing of the man before he became truly visible.

"Well, if it ain't the boy junior," said General Duke, narrowing his eyes and puffing out his chest. Standing a head taller (and about a head wider) than Valerian, Duke looked down on his superior's son with apparent disdain. "Hair growin' longer every damn day. You harbor some dream fantasy of bein' mistaken for a woman?"

"General Duke," said Valerian, trying and not quite succeeding at preventing his lips from twitching. "As belligerent, ill-spoken, and balding as ever. Do you harbor a dream of someday being mistaken for a krogan? Or are you trying to emulate your hero, Donnel Udina?"

Duke's nostrils flared. "Boy, I oughta have your hide tanned for that mouth of yours. If you're the future of the Dominion's leadership, I say this nation is doomed to be crushed under an unending wave of turian ships."

"And if you're the finest our military has to offer at present, I am left baffled as to how it has not happened already," replied Valerian.

The two of them stood there, arms folded, waiting for the other to break. To his shame, Valerian was the first to crack a smile, making Duke snort and shake his head before extending a huge palm. Valerian shook it, chuckling slightly and trying not to focus on how sweaty Duke's hand felt.

"It's good to see you, General," said Valerian, releasing his grip. "I suspect Father brought you in to tackle some fresh unwelcome development?"

"That's about right, son," said Duke, tilting his head to the side, making his neck crack. "Boralis ain't been checkin' in, probably the protoss again. Honestly I would be prepared to write the planet off; if them bastards come in force, ain't no way to repel 'em." He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. "Still… Braxis is close to some important pieces of real estate, and is close to the Umojan border besides. And you know Umojans, the sneaky fuc-" Duke stopped, evidently remembering the company he was in. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze.

"The Umojans are well-known for their proficiency in covert operations," said Valerian gently, unwilling to let the people he had grown up among be defamed, but also unwilling to let Duke embarrass himself further. "I agree – more surveillance on both sides would lead to a more hopeful future." _The minute either the Dominion or Protectorate feels they have an enormous edge on each other in the intelligence department is when all hell will break loose. I can feel it in my bones._

"He's waitin' for you up top," said Duke, jerking a thumb back to the turbolift he had entered from. "Said somethin' about you goin' for a damn dig?" Valerian could hear the implicit question. _You finally persuade that old loon to let you from under his feet?_ _Yes, Edmund. Yes I did._

"I will be going to Kessel, to oversee the final stages of a dig there," said Valerian, keeping his tone neutral even as his heart and mind raced with excitement. "The dig itself has only been taking place over a few months, but my finally being allowed to visit the fringes… well… that opportunity has been a good deal longer in the making."

"The Emperor has his reasons for keepin' you underfoot, son," said Duke, frowning. "There ain't many people that can claim to have survived nine assassination attempts, let alone nine on the same day. And he named you the heir apparent! You know how much a single strand of your hair would be worth to the Morians? To the turians?"

"Why do you think I am growing it out?" asked Valerian. "I was hoping to surprise father by showing up bald, but with a new flotilla of battlecruisers in tow."

"Heh," Duke shook his head again, and extended his hand once more. This time, Valerian did not notice the sweat, only the strength of the General's vicelike grip. "You take care of yourself, son. I never knew your mother, but it seemed like she did an alright job raisin' you."

"How do you know it wasn't the firm and capable hand of your Emperor that influenced my views?" asked Valerian, offering a small bow.

"Because I know your father all too well," said Duke grimly, snapping a salute. "Take care of yourself. Try not to get crushed by fallin' pillars, rollin' boulders, or whatever the hell shenanigans ruins cook up for you archaeologists."

They went their different ways, Valerian bearing a small smile despite himself. Duke's irritable and forthright demeanor had always amused him, while the General seemed to take delight in the younger Mengsk not being quite as… menacing… as his father. _If I didn't know better, I would say Duke is inches away from calling me "the son he never had."_ Valerian prayed for the General's sake that he never did. _Mengsk the elder was always the possessive type._

Valerian sighed as he punched in the button for the top floor. The lift began to rise and his omnitool pinged twice. _Starke, wondering if I am done yet. He's far too optimistic._ Valerian tapped in a brief message to his bodyguard, telling him to wait a while longer. _Emperors are busy men… as I am sure I will learn firsthand someday._

The grey steel visible through the elevator windows gave way to a splendid view of Augustgrad, arrayed before Valerian as if it were a map. _Korhal will bloom again…_ Flying vehicles crossed between skyscrapers, while the street below were filled with mingling ants – the dutiful citizenry of the Dominion. Trees, too, could be seen at every street corner, and Valerian could make out the enormous Dorothy park almost directly beneath the turbolift itself. _He demanded that it be kept close, and named it after a dead sister. Even monsters can suffer loss._

The doors slid open, and Valerian turned to the sumptuous hallway laid out before him. Sighing, he strode past the guards stationed at either side of the lift, and stopped before the enormous steel door that was emblazoned with the seal of the Dominion. Valerian rapped it lightly and waited. The doors opened, letting off a resounding clang as they parted from one another, the arm and whip separating down the middle. Before him, seated at a desk and peering at his computer, was the most powerful terran alive.

Emperor Arcturus Mengsk I, the man who had slain the Confederacy and forged an empire on its corpse, had aged gracefully. His hair, once a deep black, was now streaked with white and graying all over, but had not yet begun to recede. His frame and bearing was still large and strong, and his voice retained its trademark charisma that had helped win him his throne. As his eyes flicked to his son, it was apparent too, that neither his intelligence nor his ambition had dimmed with his age. _His mind is still healthy, and his body reflects that._ Valerian had no doubts that the horde of doctors, cosmetologists, and surgeons at his father's disposal played no small role in keeping the Emperor looking hale and healthy, but he had always personally attributed the man's irritatingly robust constitution with his mind first.

"Step inside, Valerian," said father, eyes returning to his computer. "I am almost finished."

Valerian entered the office and felt the air noticeably cool as he crossed the threshold. The doors sealed shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone amidst the weak light streaming in from one of Korhal's famous nuclear sunsets. Valerian stood there, carefully tracking every movement his father made. _His fingers are still deft and certain._ For a moment, he dearly wished he had more dominant genes from his father than his dead mother, but immediately felt awful for doing so.

 _Death by cancer would be preferable to inheriting the mindset of Arcturus Mengsk._ The image of Tarsonis's ruined surface and the hordes of refugees fleeing into Protectorate space flashed through his mind. _Never again._

"I take it you spoke to General Duke as he was on his way out," said Father, tone neutral, eyes never leaving the screen. "I never understood your relationship with him. Were he still on the Confederacy's payroll, he would have stepped on your throat as soon as look at you."

"A handful of variables can change the course of history, Father," said Valerian carefully. "There are many people on the streets below alone that would have killed me on sight, if the Confederacy still stood. I would not judge a man or woman on the actions they might have taken, had things gone differently." He looked his father in the face, eyes locking. "What a man _has_ done – that is how he should be judged."

Father looked away momentarily, his hands fluttering over the haptic keyboard, which died. Then he turned to his son, fingers interlocked and brow furrowed. _Ah. Now I really have his attention. It is… curiously disquieting._

"Do you mean to pass judgment on me, Valerian?" asked Father, tone mild. "What could you possibly say that has not been said by some alien politician? By your Umojan friends? By your mother? What fresh insights dance inside that head of yours?" Father's lip curled. "I have little time for the opinions of those who have yet to leave their mark on the course of history, and that is not what we are here to discuss. We are here to discuss this fool notion of yours to visit the fringes."

"And I am left wondering what there is left to talk about," said Valerian. "You have already agreed to the "fool notion," for which I am duly thankful. Was there anything else?"

Father sighed and rose from his desk, beckoning for Valerian to follow. The two of them stood side by side at the highest point in Augustgrad, looking down on the city below them. The first of the streetlights were beginning to glow as the dusk matured.

"This is the seat of terran power, not just in the sector, but in the galaxy," said Father quietly. "Six years ago, Tarsonis held that lofty title. No one could foresee the planet ever falling. The Confederacy, perhaps, was ailing, but the cityscape brimmed with life. The orbital platforms bristled with weaponry. And now… can you foresee this planet falling?"

"In this day and age?" Valerian opened his mouth and then shut it, choosing to think a little further on the matter first. "It would take the turians or protoss. Maybe the KMs if you suddenly decided to leave them alone to lick their wounds and they got the Hegemony on board." Valerian shrugged. "But they would break themselves upon the fortifications. No one could profitably take Korhal, any more than anyone could profitably take Palaven."

"A correct assessment," said Father, giving a stiff nod of approval. "The Dominion is strong. Perhaps our economy lags behind the Kel-Morians, and perhaps our scientific expertise is not quite as extensive as the Umojans, and perhaps our diplomatic ties are woefully stunted in contrast to those Council beholden idiots in the ITSA… but we are the most powerful terran military force in the galaxy. If we are to fall, it will not be to any outside invasion." Arcturus turned to his son, face shadowed in the dying light. "What has traditionally been the greatest failing of any nation lead by a single dynasty, Valerian?"

"Weakness in the line," said Valerian immediately. Father prompted him to continue with a quick hand gesture, face expressionless. "Ah… you once claimed that your favored choice of government was benevolent despotism. To your credit, you have managed to keep public approval high, took control of former Confederate space and hardened it against key threats, and maintained nominally friendly ties to the Council in the process. Your aptitude is not in question, but when you die, mine will be. And, should I pass the test, my children's aptitude will be in question as well. And so forth. The moment someone inadequate takes the throne is the moment the Dominion begins its slow descent."

"You understand, then," said Father, in what might have been an approving tone. "Good. I am pleased to say that, while you might not have met my assumptions as to your character, you are not weak. You are not incapable. Whatever misgivings I might have as to your personal aspirations are eclipsed by the relief I feel that you are not some feeble and incompetent spawn of Umoja."

 _I think that was a compliment. I'm not sure._ Valerian kept his mouth shut.

"My time is coming," said Father. "Not for a long while, I am sure, but no man lives forever. My reign, however glorious it might be, cannot be eternal. When the time comes to step down, you need to be there to take the throne." Arcturus took Valerian by the shoulder and turned him, bringing him face to face. "I know you feel… stifled… by my containing you to the Core, but you must understand the reasoning. If I die, you will rise in my place. But if you die…" Father trailed off, eyes fixed on Valerian. "There would be no time for me to raise a suitable biological replacement. I would have to look to senior politicians and military officials. Can you imagine the infighting? Duke and Warfield would turn the fleet upon itself, and the vultures would descend. Salarians. Morians. Turians." Father grimaced. "And now you want to disappear on a voyage to the fringes."

"I want to make my mark on history," said Valerian. "I have my own interests, Father, and I wish to pursue them. As thrilling as it is waiting around for you to die-"

"Enough." There was no disobeying the man. Valerian quieted immediately. "I have little interest in hearing what you believe passes as wit. I brought you up here to make certain you are aware of the risks of your undertaking. You are your own man, and I respect you for it, for the minute you accepted the name "Mengsk," you became a target. I have no doubt the salarians are aware in some capacity of your upcoming departure. So… promise me that you will keep that bodyguard of yours about at all times."

"I wasn't about to stop," said Valerian, slightly exasperated.

"Promise me that you will not leave the safety of your camp without a marine escort," persisted Father, ignoring Valerian's irritation. "Promise me that you will update Warfield on your activity once a week."

"Very well." _These are all reasonable requests._

"And finally, take no longer than two months," said Father, raising a palm at Valerian's sputtered protest. "You told me that the dig was nearing completion. Two months should be more than sufficient. I will say no more. Test my patience at your own peril."

Arcturus released his hand from Valerian's shoulder and returned to his desk.

"That will be all, Valerian." The Emperor tapped a few keys on the haptic interface, bringing it back to life. Valerian faced his father but did not budge. Arcturus looked up. "That look… I remember when your mother wore it. The day is almost done, so I will tolerate whatever line of questioning you have in mind, if for no other sake than I will not be seeing you again for some time. Speak."

"I have judged you, in the past, Father," said Valerian carefully, sweat forming on his forehead and palms as his father listened quietly. "I said, earlier, that a person could only be judged on the basis of their actions… but I believe their intentions also matter. Perhaps not to the scholars of history, who will no doubt pick over your life and reign long after you are dust, but to me… I would like to know."

A stillness had set over his father. His eyes gleamed in the half-light, but he did not speak. Valerian continued.

"Your actions have helped shape the galaxy into what it is today. You were one of the first terrans to communicate with alien life. You forged the Dominion. My question is…" _How do I phrase this?_ He looked at his father, and saw no hint of uncertainty or regret. _Has any journalist ever dared ask him this? I do not think so… not even Emily Wong._ "…if there were anything you could change, go back and do differently, any… potential mistakes you might have made…?" Valerian faltered. Even he could not withstand Arcturus's gaze for long. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them even breathed.

"You find me in a charitable mood," said Father quietly. "You were right to tread cautiously, for what I say to you must never leave this room. I must even ask that you think of it little; Sarah Kerrigan has been known to walk the sector, and I would not have that bitch know any more than she already does. She would not hesitate to wring this information from your mind."

 _Still he worries about the likes of Jim Raynor and Sarah Kerrigan. It is baffling._ Valerian still murmured his assent.

"Despite my singular position and uncommon strength of will, it would be a mistake to think I do not experience my moments of doubt," said the Emperor of Mankind, face shadowed. "Perhaps… even moments of guilt. The galaxy is a far more fragile and dangerous place than it was six years ago. Some may argue that we always look to the past with rose tinted glasses, but make no mistake, both the Council and the terran people ultimately suffered from their contact."

"The Terran Dominion is enormous… but so are its enemies. The salarians and turians are at each other's throats with the asari gone… and that is as much my doing as it is that fool, Donnel Udina's. The zerg are gone, but they left countless worlds devastated. No doubt Tarsonis was floating to your mind as you asked your question." _He's not wrong._ Father's voice had taken on an unfamiliar, bitter tone. "Monstrous actions breed monstrous men. The Confederacy slaughtered my family. Your family. They reduced this planet to handful of glowing cinders. What you see here is but a fraction of what I grew up with. So too, will you never experience the… frustration that I did, speaking to my father, your grandfather. You will never hear the laughter of your aunt. But in turn, you will never walk the streets of New Gettysburg as they were, brimming with life, the streets lit up with countless theatres, museums, bars…" Father's fingers clenched and unclenched.

"I have my moments of doubt, but they are inevitably supplanted by more than a decade of rage. If I had a chance, would I do things over again? No. I would not. Perhaps… the deaths of innocents could be avoided, if I were less thorough, less vindictive in my actions. But that would have carried the risk of yet more foes for the Dominion to ultimately contend with." The emperor leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. "Sometimes… I still see Tarsonis in flames, in my dreams. But then I wake, and look outside Augustgrad to the endless deserts the Confederacy left behind."

"Ultimately… I am not a haunted man. I put the shades of my family to rest. I saw an end to the Confederacy and the Old Families that ruined it. I am well content."

"That… answered my question," said Valerian after a long silence. His father did not respond. "Thank you."

"We're done here," said Father shortly. "I wish you a safe voyage. Heed my instructions and return promptly. I know you feel my paranoia is sometimes unwarranted, that I see an assassin behind every tree, but believe me when I say that such behavior is the only reason I still live. Keep your eyes open."

"Goodbye, Father," said Valerian, offering a short bow. "If I believed you needed it, I would wish you luck on running the Dominion."

The doors opened once more with a resounding clang, and Valerian walked through, all too thankful to finally be underway. _Still, that was enlightening, if disturbing._ Valerian wondered idly if there were any way he could convince his father to start visiting a therapist. _All that anger can't be good for him. It certainly didn't do much good for the Confederacy. Or the asari._

Valerian's omnitool pinged once more, and this time he responded by calling Starke.

Devon Starke's head popped up through the omnitool, shimmering in the harsh light of the turbolift.

"Is the meeting over, sir?" asked the ghost, peering at Valerian's face through his own omnitool. "How did it go?"

"Well enough, we are cleared to leave," replied Valerian after briefly scanning the turbolift for bugs of any kind. "Any updates from the site?"

"I'm afraid so," said Starke in a tone of voice that made Valerian's heart skip a beat. "Steady zerg encroachment. It could just be their nerves, but they swore in their report that the damn things are acting like… well, like they were in the Great War. They're moving on the dig site, not in great numbers, but…"

"It's nothing," snapped Valerian.

"Did you notify Emperor Mengsk of this?" asked Starke, sounding worried.

"Of course not," said Valerian, angry more at himself than anything. "I am old enough to take my own calculated risks. Moreover, I tire of waiting around for either Father to die or to finally find some use for me. We go ahead as planned, Starke. I will see you shortly."

"Yes, sir," replied Starke, his voice slightly cut off as Valerian shut down the feed. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. _Nothing to worry about. Might have to kill a few bugs if they grow… rambunctious… near the dig site. I'm sure they're just exaggerating._

 _But… we all have our moments of doubt._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tychus**


	7. A New Life

**Tychus**

Tychus was no longer allowed to use the infirmary as his sleeping quarters, something he was quite okay with. Dr. Michel might have been a nice looking redhead (and _damn_ , it had been a while since he'd seen one of those) but her frequent muscle exercises had left Tychus twitching with pain for hours afterwards. The electric therapy had at least just left him numb.

The reason Tychus was not allowed to live in the infirmary anymore had nothing to do with his therapy. Despite showering the doctor with every curse word known to man and a few known only to folks from Mar Sara back in the day, Dr. Michel had only reacted with a grim smile and increased pressure on the muscles. She'd heard it all before. No, what had got Tychus thrown out was "bad behavior."

"What are you doing?" Dr. Michel had asked as Tychus pored over the medical gurney he had been using as a table, his newly strengthened fingers clutching a beaker in one hand, and a small bottle of a methamphetamine and rocket fuel cocktail in the other. "Tychus? What in God's name are you making in here?"

"Ol' Findlay brew," Tychus had grunted in what he judged a perfectly manner. "Now, doctor, give Tychus a moment of quiet. I get this mixture wrong, it'd be the same as injecting acid in my veins."

Dr. Michel had not bothered asking just what was in the cocktail, simply waiting for Tychus to finish his mixing. Afterward, she had calmly and politely insisted on determining the chemical composition of Tychus's little concoction, and Tychus was unable to resist her authority. He still remembered quite clearly the shade of purple her face had turned as her computer determined just what he had been making.

"Better than any stim," said Tychus, shrugging as the doctor rounded on him.

"OUT!" she said, pointing out the door. "NOW."

Grumbling, Tychus had exited the infirmary without a backward glance, privately all too happy to be out of the reach of Michel's less than gentle fingers. Now here he was, hunting for either the captain of the vessel or his old pal, Jimmy, winding his way through the rusted metal halls of _Norad II_ , shoving past the beleaguered looking crew and hunting for the people who could make sure he wouldn't be sleeping on the cold floor tonight.

Tychus was familiar enough with the layout of Confederate battlecruisers. Lord knew he had seen enough of their interiors back in the day… but _Norad II_ seemed to be a bit different from what he remembered. _Probably a new class of ship._ It was not long before Tychus realized he had become completely lost; having turned down a hallway he believed would take him up to the bridge, the ship's hallways instead descended and twisted past many dark and empty rooms that clearly had not seen use in quite some time, and then Tychus could no longer remember where had entered from.

"Well, this is a mite embarrassin'," muttered Tychus before silently cursing Dr. Michel for kicking him out of the medlab. Sighing, Tychus wheeled about several times. He was currently at some kind of intersection for all of the empty rooms, and there was no one else in sight or sound. Shaking his head, Tychus picked a direction and elected to follow it until he ran into somebody. _It's not like I'm in the middle of a damn desert, after all._ Sure enough, after less than a minute of walking through the dimly lit corridors, he ran into somebody.

Graying of hair and weathered of face, the tall man had been opening a door to Tychus's right before stopping at Tychus's approach. He tilted his head slightly in apparent confusion before raising a hand in greeting. Tychus stopped before the gentleman, who was only a head shorter than he.

"Tychus Findlay. You walk amongst the living once more, I see," said the man, his accent slightly strange and his syllables annunciated clearly. Tychus thought he sounded a bit familiar, even though he had not seen this man before in his life. "What are you doing away from the doctor's expert care?"

"Doc threw me out for some reason," replied Tychus, not caring to elaborate. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Been lookin' for Jimmy, maybe the kid captain. Need some damn sleepin' arrangements made, but got turned around. Just where the hell am I?"

The man motioned for Tychus to follow him through his door, and Tychus complied. He was a little surprised by the room he found himself in. It was just as ill-lit as the corridors had been, but it smacked of intention. The room was huge, and a bare altar dominated the center. The shapes of dust on the floor indicated that an enormous number of chairs and possibly tables had been shifted away recently, and indeed Tychus could see stacks of chairs along the edges. _What the hell? Does the Norad II have some kind of sacrificial chamber tucked away in here?_ Tychus felt a brief moment of panic, but followed it by almost smacking himself for his stupidity. _Idiot. It's the chapel. Most Confederate cruisers had them._ To his left, the man turned a dial and brightened the room immensely. He dusted his hands off.

"It's funny how the lost always end up here," said the man. "In your case, however, it is a bit more literal than usual." He extended a hand. "I am Daniel Trome, former Alpha Squadron chaplain, now Jim Raynor's man. I witnessed your rebirth, Mr. Findlay."

"I remember," said Tychus, taking the man's hand and testing the strength of his grip. To his irritation, Trome matched it quite easily. _Damn muscle atrophy. After I get myself some sleepin' quarters, gonna find the gym in this place._ "Thanks for bustin' me out."

"I would say it was no trouble, but in truth I was hoping no one had to die on that particular excursion," said Trome, releasing his grip and standing back, looking Tychus up and down. "You look a great deal livelier now. The doctor works wonders, if not miracles." Trome gestured to the lines of chairs along the wall. "Feel free to have a seat. I will let Jim know you are here."

Tychus muttered a quick thank you before shuffling off to grab the nearest chair he could. Trome walked into a back room, where Tychus heard the brief crackle of a radio. When Trome emerged once more, it was to find Tychus doing his best to balance himself on a chair that was just a bit too small for his enormous frame.

"He'll be down shortly, Mr. Findlay," said Trome. "He's not terribly happy about it. Mr. Raynor tries to avoid this part of the ship whenever possible. That's partly why I am only one of two people living down here."

"Who's the other?" asked Tychus, although he already had an idea.

"That would be Jack," said Trome, a flicker of some kind of emotion appearing on his face. Tychus wasn't sure what Trome was feeling, but judging by the tone, it might have been pity. "Not Jacqueline, not Miss Jack, just… Jack. We had a very lively conversation early on about that particular subject. She stops in occasionally, ostensibly to torment me on my uselessness." Trome shrugged. "I have seen over two hundred combat drops in my lifetime and I served for twenty years with Alpha Squadron. I am well aware of my own… uses. It pleases her to call me "old man" and "God botherer," and it pleases me that she has at least some social interaction aside from Mr. Raynor and sometimes Jenny, so I am always quite happy when she stops by."

"Can't be much call for a chaplain these days," said Tychus, quickly glancing at the swirls of dust on the floor. "Aliens are runnin' about, the Confederacy is gone, and Jimmy never played nice with God after we bailed out of the service."

"Back when there were more active Raiders I had a weekly service," said Trome, his eyes locking with Tychus's with an unnerving intensity. "Non-denominational, of course. We still had quite a few other members of Alpha Squadron back then. Now it's a mix of Mar Sara folks, aliens, and a few strays from all over the Koprulu Sector." Trome shrugged. "Most of the interest tapered off as things got worse. It's harder to tend to alien faiths as well, as I learned early on. I understand Declan – he was there for your rescue as well – still keeps to Karza, but I obviously cannot help him with that."

"And you?" asked Tychus, absentmindedly stroking his backside, roughly where Dr. Michel had shot a translator into him. "What faith you come from, preacher man?"

Trome breathed sharply in what might have been a strangled laugh before raising his eyebrows.

"The Children of the Cycle," said Trome shortly. "We are sometimes called "Cyclists" in planets that do not make great use of bicycles. Not a popular religion, as our point of origin is rather remote and it was created post arrival. Still, we are – well, _were_ a popular choice of chaplain in the Confederacy."

"Might have met one or two of you," said Tychus, struggling to remember past the haze of alcohol, theft, and rampant violence that made up the bulk of his days in the Confederate military. "Never had much use for God, myself."

"Truth be told, neither have I," replied Trome. "There are deist, theist, agnostic, and atheist branches of the faith, and I was raised in the last one. Still – I am always willing to accept argument, and my line of work demands open-mindedness as much as it does combat prowess."

"What the hell kind of faith splits on whether there's a God or not?" Tychus shook his head. "Seems the sort of thing a church should be definite on."

"The more the galaxy opens up to us, the more I appreciate the humble uncertainty of the various forms of Cyclism," replied Trome, chuckling as he took up his own seat. "I am guessing you do not know the history? Our planet was swallowed up by the Confederacy early on and forgotten about rather quickly. Not like your Mar Sara."

"I wish I could have been there when that hell hole died," said Tychus, shifting in his seat. "Always wanted to watch that place go up in flames. Happy it did."

Trome grimaced. "I would keep that to yourself, Mr. Findlay. Many of the people here hold that planet in high regard still, even so many years after its destruction. Mr. Raynor in particular loved that planet."

"He wasn't born on it," growled Tychus as, with a sickening lurch in his stomach, he recalled the image of his father staggering through the door, Mar Sara's moon framed behind him. _His knuckles were always so hairy… saw them up close far too many times._ "He didn't get the real perspective."

"If you say so, Mr. Findlay," replied Trome, tone neutral. His jaw suddenly set as he looked up, and Tychus thought he caught a whiff of fresh sweat.

"What the hell's the ape doing down here?" The woman's voice was high yet harsh, and Tychus's image of his father was very suddenly replaced by the much fresher picture of an alien being torn in half without anyone ever touching him. Suppressing any nerves he might have felt, Tychus rose and turned to face the tiny thing before him.

 _Huh. Not bad._ She was the kind of girl his mother had warned him against, which meant she was the kind of girl he liked. She was short to the point of being tiny, and she had covered everything from her folded arms to her shaved scalp with tattoos. When Tychus looked down at her, she bared her teeth at him, her eyes full of hostility.

"Wasn't talking to you, Ape," Jack said, pushing past Tychus. "Since when do you have any kind of congregation, preacher man?"

"Mr. Findlay here was thrown out of the infirmary for bad behavior," said Trome, much to Tychus's approval. _That's right. Talk me up, old man._ "He subsequently got lost. Mr. Raynor will be here shortly to pick him up, if you want to speak with him."

"When do we get to Omega?" asked Jack, almost cutting Trome off. Trome shrugged.

"The chaplain is rarely informed of such things. I only leave the ship when Raynor wants the surer fighters ashore." Tychus had a hard time believing that, but he did not recall Trome shaming himself on _Purgatory._ "I do not recommend debarking on Omega. In my experience, all it takes is one wrong turn and all of the locals get upset."

"Locals get upset everywhere I go," said Jack. "Then I get upset, and people get dead. If I want to get off on Omega, who's going to stop me?"

"I might have a way or two, darlin'," said a very welcome voice from beyond the door. Rounding the threshold was the man himself. "This is the most people I've seen in your chapel for years, Dan."

"I lured them in with the promise of a good warm meal," said Trome dryly. "Poor fools have yet to learn there is no such thing aboard this ship."

"You askin' about Omega, darlin'?" asked Jim, and Tychus was quite surprised when Jack did not retaliate with a tongue lashing.

"The place is great; plenty of laser batteries to play with and the food isn't terrible, but unless we go pirate, I'm not interested," said Jack. _Yep. My kind of woman._ "So – Omega. When's it coming up?"

"Four hours, darlin'," replied Jim. "Now, I know you want off this ship so you can start… robbin' folk, I guess, and God knows Omega would normally be the place for it, but believe me, Aria ain't gonna take kindly to it right now. Council blew up another Waygate."

Trome's reaction was one of shock. He blew out air in a low whistle and raised his eyebrows high. Tychus was just confused. Jack didn't care.

"Who died and made Aria the Queen Bitch of the Universe?" Jack spat. "I can take Omega. I can take anybody."

"I don't doubt it," said Jim quietly, "but I ain't about to leave you in a damn warzone, which is what Omega is slowly becomin'. I'll take you on shore, if you want, let you judge for yourself. No one's gonna tell you what to do on this ship." He gave Trome a meaningful glance.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Jack exited the chapel with a shrug, before rounding on Jim and pointing a finger in his face. "You better be straight up with me. If you're trying to hold me here…"

"Ain't no one on this ship that's here against their will, Jack," said Jim calmly, arms still against his sides. "Don't know what you've been through, but believe me – nothing bad's gonna happen to you on this ship. You're safe."

Jack didn't have a retort, strolling off without a sound. That just left Jim staring at Tychus.

"Tryin' to start up your secret stash again, Tychus?" asked Jim, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I remember when I tried that shit. Kept me awake for five days straight; try to keep it out of the doctor's sight."

"That woman's a coldhearted sadist, Jimmy," replied Tychus. "Ol' Tychus is gonna keep himself well away from that butcher's shop of hers, you got my word on that."

"Thanks for pickin' him up for me," said Jim, nodding to Trome. "He tends to cause a bit of a ruckus if you don't keep your eye on him. I appreciate it."

"Any time, Mr. Raynor," said Trome, eyes flicking toward Tychus. "Feel free to drop in if you ever feel like it, Mr. Findlay. You're part of the crew now, after all."

"Am I?" asked Tychus as he and Jim left the chapel together. "Don't remember there being any kind of ceremony, Jimmy. Surely gettin' old Tychus back would warrant a bit more than gettin' screamed at by the local sawbones?"

"I got somethin' planned once we hit Omega," said Jim. He looked back at his old partner in crime, and Tychus took a good long look at the streaks of gray and white in the man's beard and hair. _Shit, Jimmy. You got old on me._ "Drinks are on me, like I said. Got some folks to meet on Omega, and I'm sure they'd love to meet you, too."

"It's an alien space station, right?" Tychus wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Deadman's Port had been alright, back in the day, but there weren't no walking tanks like Xeltan to worry about back then. "They friendly aliens?"

"Not especially," said Jim with a casual air. "Got a working relationship with the ones that matter. Raiders are always welcome. I'll make sure you don't take any wrong turns and end up as someone's breakfast."

"They eat humans?" Jim laughed as Tychus's face reddened. _Try not to sound like a scared schoolgirl, dammit, Tychus._

"Not the ones we'll be associating with," said Jim, smiling sadly at his old friend. "You'll see a lot of spiky little guys walking around back alleys. Those little bastards will eat anything. Aside from that… not really, should be safe. I'll introduce aliens as we come across them. Speaking of…"

They had made it back into the inhabited areas of the ship, and sure enough there was the alien Tychus remembered as "Declan." _Another fella to thank for my daring rescue._

"Look who's up," said the alien, and Tychus realized with a shock that those were the first intelligible words he had ever heard an alien say. "Huh. Bigger than I thought. Not sure Swann has power armor that would fit him."

"We did have a slightly bigger set for him back in the day," said Jim, chuckling and gesturing between the two. "This is Declan. He's a batarian. They have an alright relationship with terrans, for the most part. They like the KMC well enough, and everyone else is too far away to worry about."

"The ITSA's close," said Declan, shaking Tychus's hand and easily overwhelming Tychus's grip, "have a few friends who hate them – but they're in the minority."

"Declan used to be with batarian special forces – SIU," said Jim. "Pretty prestigious. Rescued him from an op of his that went bad a few years back in the Zerg Exclusion Zone and he decided to stick around. He's a good man."

"Jim and my wife are about the only ones who ever called me that," said Declan, baring his teeth in what looked to Tychus like a threat display (but fuck if he knew.) "SIU doesn't like to recruit "good men.""

"Yet that's what you are," said Jim, nodding and gesturing for Tychus to follow him. "We hit Omega in four hours. If you want some leave, feel free. You've earned it."

"Can't get over damn aliens just walkin' among us, Jimmy," said Tychus as the two of them walked away. "Hell, and that's even after ridin' on top of one. How the hell am I supposed to wrap my head around this?"

"Over a cold drink in about four hours," said Jim, stopping to rap on a side door. "I'll break it down for you nice and easy; I'll find one of each alien and tell you how scared you should be of 'em."

"Ain't gonna need much help with the needle mouths," said Tychus, looking backward only to see Declan had already gone on his own way. The door slid open behind him, and Tychus heard a small squeak.

"This is the only bed available this close to the bridge," said Jim apologetically – though whether it was to Tychus or the small mouse of a man before the two of them, Tychus was not certain at first. "I didn't want to put you away from the action with Jack and Trome. This is your roommate, Egon."

"Hello there, little man," said Tychus, looking down at the slightly widened eyes of his new bunkmate. "We're gonna get along just fine, I'm sure."

"Alright," said Jim, looking back and forth at the two of them and backing away. "If you have any questions about the ship, Tychus, Egon can help you out. I'll be back once we've docked and then…" Jim flashed a grin, "…I owe you a beer, don't I? Plus, I'll get you up to speed."

"Appreciated, partner," said Tychus, shouldering his way past Egon and taking a good long look at his new accommodations. _Bunk bed. Small personal bathroom. Not bad._ The door slid shut behind him.

"I got top bunk," said Egon before withering before Tychus's gaze.

"I'll wrestle you for it," said Tychus. That was how he got top bunk.

"Now," said Tychus from the top bunk, "I'm gonna need some more methamphetamines and rocket fuel. I'm locked out of medbay; tell me where the damn laboratory is."

To Tychus's slight esteem, Egon refused to acquiesce to that particular demand, so he left the topic alone and instead elected to wander the ship – making sure to remember where he started from this time. His wanderings stopped early on, however, when he found the cantina.

Dimly lit and barely populated, the cantina's main source of light and sound came from a television monitor above the bar. The bartender, a man who was only as ugly as he was bald, gave him a nod. Tychus took a seat, sniffing.

"Strongest thing on the menu," said Tychus. "Put it on Jimmy's tab." Tychus suspected that Jim owned the bar and that crewmen drank free, but didn't feel like asking if that were the case.

At some point, the ship ground to a halt. Tychus didn't notice. Jim found him arguing with the bartender about the "nine drink limit" that Tychus suspected he had made up on the spot.

"Puttin' you in cryo didn't change your behavior much," said Jim, folding his arms. "Edwin – I'll handle it. He's comin' with me."

With a final leer, Tychus followed Jim out of the cantina – a little unsteadily, it had to be said. _Tolerance ain't what it used to be. Damn cryo tube._

"I ain't changed," said Tychus as they left the cantina. "Far as I can see, I woke up a few seconds after the deep freeze. Everything else changed, but I'm just as beautiful as I was eleven years ago." _And you got old. What happened, Jimmy?_ His eyes weren't the same as they were. The fiery passion Tychus had once seen there had dimmed quite a bit. He couldn't imagine Jim eleven years back taking his shit like this.

"Lot of things happened," said Jim, casting Tychus a sad look. "I was right there around first contact. And before that… well."

"I told you to go straight," said Tychus, stopping Jim by clamping a hand on his shoulder. "Now here you are, cruisin' the stars with a band of damn misfits. You ain't pirates, but I don't see no government markings. What happened?"

"Later, once we both have drinks in our hand," said Jim, calmly removing Tychus's huge palm. "Trust me. I want to catch you up."

Tychus grunted, and Jim continued onward. This time, he took Tychus to the portside airlock, where the huge horseman alien, Xeltan, was waiting, this time sans armor.

"Cheerful greeting: it is good to see you up, Tychus Findlay," intoned the massive creature, voice entirely monotone. "Cautiously: I hope you were comfortable strapped to my back."

"Wasn't the worst damn thing to ever happen to me," said Tychus. "You comin' with?" _How the hell does that thing drink anyway?_

"Proudly: no. I am sending several credit chits back home to Terra Nova," said Xeltan. "With mixed sadness and happiness: our family was one of the few to escape mostly unscathed from Dekuuna."

"Xeltan's our heaviest hitter," said Jim. "Blue Suns didn't want us sending in more than four people, so we sent in our best. Damn lucky to have him with us."

"With youthful arrogance: on that we are agreed," said Xeltan. "No ground operation would go smoothly without me."

 _I ain't in much of a position to disagree with that._ Even from his limited view from Xeltan's back, it was pretty clear that the poor prison guards were in no way prepared for the level of ordinance he carried on his back. _Still… see if I can't replace him. Ol' Tychus knows a thing or two about combat._

The docking tube locked and the doors slid open. With a deep breath, Tychus followed his companions, one familiar and one unfamiliar, into the unknown.

His first sensation was the blast of heat and noise. _Norad II_ wasn't cold, but it certainly wasn't hot either; Omega was hot. The air smelt smoky and faintly chemical, and the entire room he had entered was bathed in orange light. The walls, too, were covered in the faint crimson of age old rust. _Makes Deadman's Port look like a paradise._

Jim and Xeltan paid their surroundings no mind, however, so Tychus did the same, strolling down the desolate hallway to the nearest threshold. Then, Omega opened up.

"Nice." Tychus couldn't help but let his feelings be known. Putrid skyscrapers dotted his view on his left and right, adorned with flashing advertisements that would not have been out of place on Tarsonis or Tyrador. They flashed purple, yellow, red; bright colors against the dull orange, over and over. But, standing before Tychus and outshining them all, was Afterlife.

Flames (and Tychus could not tell if they were real or not) licked the roof of the building while bright red letters spelled out the name in bright red, flashing between several different languages. The low thrumming of loud music reverberated through the ground and air, making Tychus's mind and heart buzz with excitement.

"We headed in there?" asked Tychus, looking to Jimmy who had stopped to watch Tychus's own reaction.

"It wasn't easy, but we got reservations," said Jim with a smirk. Xeltan had shambled off into the crowd of – _Christ, didn't even notice the aliens._

To Tychus's surprise and relief, they were mostly bipedal, barring another one of Xeltan's kind who stood before a line of aliens leading up to Afterlife. Many of them carried weapons or wore armor, and the ones who did not were either dressed in expensive looking civvies and lined up for Afterlife, or were incredibly grubby and furtive, ducking through the streets as if afraid of a lightning strike from on high.

"We're expected," said Jim, tapping Tychus on the shoulder and walking toward the club. "Got two people to meet up here, but I think we got about twenty minutes; it'll give me time to give you a good picture of what's goin' on these days… and buy you a drink."

"A few drinks," said Tychus, walking past the line of aliens and eyeing them with interest. "I ain't even lightheaded yet."

"Shoulda figured you'd find the _Norad II_ bar as soon as you were turned loose," said Jim, tapping the door to the club. It slid open with a hiss, and the sound of the bass grew a little louder. "Now… I'm gonna show you the heart of Omega."

The front area was still mostly quiet. A gang of Declan's people – batarians – nodded to them as they went by before resuming their discussion. The second door leading into Afterlife proper seemed to throb and pulse with sound.

The door retreated from view, and Tychus gazed upon the most glorious sight since the beginning of his new existence. Scantily glad and enticingly female shaped figures shook their assets on a central platform surrounding a massive screen across which flashed fleeting images of blue skinned women. Vast crowds of people, aliens and terrans both, mingled across the great expanse of the smoky room below the dancers. The clink of glasses and the sound of laughter, both familiar and unfamiliar, reached Tychus's ears and calmed his mind. And then there were the strobe lights, the bar counters, and the endless droning thrum of the bass… Tychus fixated instead on the dancers, whose liquid movements were a far cry from the inexpert pole dancers he had known in his own ventures through backworld nightclubs.

"My god, it's full of strippers," said Tychus finally as Jim grinned up at him.

"You won't always find a lot of common ground between terrans and aliens," said Jim back loudly, "but everyone appreciates the way the asari move. C'mon. I've got a table."

Tychus, transfixed by the lights, music, and movement, followed Jim without really looking at him. Fortunately, as always, his large frame meant that people tried to get out of his way, rather than the other way round. He took a seat.

"Yep, looks like my guy isn't here yet," said Jim from across the table. "Hold on. I'll get you something I know you'll like."

Tychus happily waited at the table while Jim disappeared into the crowd. When he returned it was with two glasses, one filled with a very purple drink, the other with a vibrant green.

"Both yours," said Jim, and Tychus couldn't help but smile. Jim sat himself down and slid the drinks across. Tychus lifted the green glass and eyed the contents before bringing it to his lips. _Heh. Fruity._ He gave Jim a thumbs up. "Good, glad you like it. Now, how many questions you got?"

"Galactic affairs have always been above my paygrade, partner," said Tychus, wiping the green froth from his mouth and placing the glass back on the table. "But… your affairs ain't. What the hell happened, Jimmy? I didn't take a long cold nap just so you could go on with your vagabond ways. I thought you was back on the up and up."

Jim's face contorted. "I was." He stared at his hands laid on the table. "Seems like… only one thing the universe has ever let me do. The old magistrate wiped my record and set me up on Mar Sara as a marshal. No one was after me anymore. I… I found a wife, Tychus. Had a kid."

Tychus thought about interrupting with some loud and overblown congratulations, but it was pretty obvious, given his tone and the surroundings, that they weren't a part of the equation anymore.

"Confederacy took 'em both," said Jim, this time his voice hard. "Left me alone in the dusts of Mar Sara. Took to work, real hard like. Best damn marshal anyone had ever seen. Then… first contact. Aliens take the planet, Sons of Korhal, Arcturus Mengsk's outfit, lifts us out with the help of some aliens. Those ones in particular." Jim pointed at another table, this one populated by spiky raptor men. Two of them returned Jim and Tychus's stares with a steely glint in their eyes. "They're real soldier types, the turians. Got the biggest damn fleet, the most guns, the most marines."

"They the ones that burned ol' Mar Sara?" asked Tychus. _'Cause if they are, I want you to buy them drinks._

"Nah," said Jim, wiping his nose. "Nah… that was the protoss. You won't see them, most likely. They're uh, reclusive, Koprulu sector only. Real advanced, powerful psionics. I wouldn't worry about them, man. Don't have much use for nightclubs."

 _Uh huh._ Tychus decided not to press further. There were enough aliens to memorize without worrying about the ones he'd never see.

"The zerg were the ones causin' all the terror five years ago," said Jim. "They're mostly gone now, confined to exclusion zones the Council set up – the Council's the main body of rulin' aliens. Terrans got a representative, along with the turians and salarians – uh, salarians are lizard types, tend to be pretty damn scary geniuses. Asari – that'd be the blue-skinned aliens whose asses you keep oglin' – used to have a seat, but lost it once the homeworld got sacked."

"So who're you with?" asked Tychus, not prying his eyes from said asari asses. "Confederacy's gone, but the Kel-Morians and Umojans are still around?" _Damn KMC's still clingin' on? Would make that war we fought for the Confederacy all the more pointless…_

"They're still around," said Jim, looking unhappy. "Big terran nation is the Dominion. Arcturus Mengsk is their emperor. I… knew the man once. Fought for him. He led the zerg to Tarsonis and had everyone there killed, the planet devastated. Korhal's the seat of terran power now."

"And you didn't appreciate that," said Tychus, following his guess up by swallowing the rest of his green drink, relishing the burn and the aftertaste.

"I stole the _Norad II_ ," said Jim, a little proud, mostly sad. "Ended up seein' the end of the war anyway, on the asari homeworld, but then I… had to turn my back on a lot of people. They didn't want word of what happened on Tarsonis spreadin', and that was somethin' I couldn't swallow."

"So… you tellin' me you went outlaw _because_ you was tryin' to do the right thing?" Tychus shook his head. "Damn, Jimmy. What we really need to teach you is how to feel satisfied seein' somethin' just half way. It'll be healthier for you."

"I ain't about to turn my back on what my parents taught me," said Jim, folding his arms across his chest. "Bad things done for the right reasons… it ain't acceptable. Ain't justifiable. I've seen enough of the galaxy to know that's true, and I've picked up a sizable number of folks who agree with me. Good people can make a difference without havin' to do bad things, Tychus."

"And the other way 'round works too," said Tychus, raising his second glass in Jim's direction. "Thanks for pullin' me out of that tube, partner."

"And thank you for takin' the fall like you did," said Jim back, barely audible through the general ruckus of Afterlife. "It didn't work out in the end, but it gave me a few years of bliss, and a whole decade of freedom that I really didn't deserve. Cheers."

"Cheers." Tychus downed the purple drink and shook his now much lighter feeling head. _Heh. Now I'm feelin' it. Have to get down what drinks these were later._ He shook his head again and then someone tapped on his shoulder.

"What the hell do you- oh… hello there, sweet thing." The person tapping him was, well, the most gorgeous terran woman Tychus had sighted since his awakening. _Not that Jenny and Jack don't have their charm but…_ Her white and gold outfit stood out against the flashing orange, purple, and red of Omega, and her chest stood out against her outfit. The woman's gaze met his and narrowed.

"I'm here to see Mr. Raynor," said the woman, her accent flavored with the Core world, making Tychus instantly wake up. "I would ask you to get up, stop leering, and find somewhere quiet until the adults are done talking."

"Do as she says, man," said Jim, standing from his seat. "Ms. Lawson, didn't think he'd send you out here. Good to see you again. Tychus – take this and buy whatever you want. Just don't get into a fight." Jim handed off a chit, and Tychus left, only pausing to look back at the woman one more time, who had taken his seat and leaned in to speak to Jim with what appeared to be both intensity and interest. _Damn, Jimmy. Lucky dog._

Tychus found the nearest bar counter and an empty stool. To his left was some massive… turtle man… and to his right was a turian in blue armor.

"Damn Archangel," the turian was saying to himself, slurring and flanging at the same time. "Thirty-three good men… a damn Waygate…" The turian shook his head and slammed his glass against the counter. "New drink!"

Tychus ordered a drink himself at random from the menu hanging above him, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that the man serving his drinks was, to be frank, not a man, but instead a weird lizard thing.

Tychus downed his drink slowly, taking his time to eye his surroundings. He hadn't noticed it at first, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this entire area of the club was arranged like some kind of throne room; at the very back of the room in a raised area, heavily guarded, was the throne couch, mostly obscured from view at this time. Tychus couldn't help but notice that someone standing from there could see all of the room at any given time. _Hmm. Jim did call this the heart of Omega._

The turian had stumbled from his seat and his hand caught on Tychus's back.

"Watch it," snarled Tychus, turning just in time to see the turian trip, his drink sailing out of his hands. The glass landed with a thud against the turtle man, splashing a blue substance all over the creature's back. Tychus had never considered himself the smartest man, nor the most perceptive man, but he was quite sensitive to when shit was about to go down. And as the turtle man pushed himself from his seat and rounded on the prone and babbling turian with a snarl, Tychus knew _shit was about to go down._ He stood up.

"Turians," the turtle man grunted, stepping forward. "Just trying to have a nice quiet drink, and then the turians come along to ruin it all. Again. Ruining everything." The turtle man's own steps were unsteady as well, his speech slurred. Tychus, bored and aware of where the center of attention was at that time, decided to make a stand.

"We're all just tryin' to have a nice quiet drink," said Tychus, stepping between the two and making sure that his imposing height was as clear as possible to the damned turtle. The turtle peered up at him, blood red eyes seeming to dilate as Tychus watched. "No need to get all riled up, partner."

"Terrans," said the turtle, teeth bared, "too damn stupid to ever avoid a fight."

When the creature charged, Tychus had less than a second to marvel at its impressive speed before it barreled into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. The strength of the creature was also incredible; Tychus skidded against the floor for a solid four seconds before digging in his heels and providing any kind of resistance. Trying to ignore the horrid feelings of weakness, Tychus gritted his teeth and held his ground. The turtle began to falter, and Tychus reared back and jabbed the creature in the face as hard as he could. They broke apart, panting, and this time Tychus charged, fist first.

His knuckles collided with the thing's snout with bone crunching force, propelling the damn turtle backwards while Tychus offered a muffled shout as his hand seemed to catch fire. He clutched his right hand with its brother, looking up at the turtle only to see it shake its hand, offer a throaty laugh, and charge again.

Tychus heard the shriek of the crowd as the bastard knocked him off his feet and sent him careening into the captive audience. Tychus landed with a meaty thud and a groan. He pushed himself back up shakily, only to catch a fist across the face. Mixed drool and blood flew from his mouth and pooled on the floor. Tychus rolled just in time to see the turtle's foot stamp and grind where had once lay. He pushed himself up halfway, and then was helped up further.

"Hold tight, terran," said an utterly non-reassuring needle mouthed face. "Me and the boys got you." Tychus was pulled fully upright and found himself surrounded by a ring of batarians, two of whom were cracking their knuckles. "You want to do this, krogan?"

Past the shoulders of his rescuers, Tychus got a good long look at his opponent, the "krogan." It spat on the floor.

"Just want a nice quiet drink," said the krogan, murder in its eyes. "Heh." It waddled off to Tychus's muted relief. He wiped some of the blood from his lip.

"Thanks," said Tychus as the batarians fanned out to return to wherever they had come from.

"Always happy to lend a hand for our brothers standing against the Council," said the leader, the one clad in black leathers. "Takes some stones to take on a krogan… try not to do it again."

"Right," said Tychus, making a mental note. "No more krogans for me." He looked around for Jimmy, who gave him a small nod and rose from his seat. To Tychus's surprise, the woman from earlier had vanished, replaced by some taller yet still feminine figure clad in red. _Hello, beautiful._

"Finished making an ass of yourself?" asked Jimmy, causing Tychus's face to flush an even deeper shade of red. He pointed somewhere to Tychus's right. "Aria didn't like that."

Tychus looked up to the throne. A tall, shadowed figure looked down on them, her bearing quite stiff. Tychus wiped more blood from his mouth.

"Don't give a fuck what she thinks," said Tychus. "Did you see that, Jimmy? Saved a damn turian from being pasted. I'm a hero."

"That turian was Blue Suns, one of the bastards who tried to kill us when we got you out of cryo," said Jim. "I mean, I ain't gonna say you did the wrong thing, but I'm sure as hell not gonna sing any praises. Come on. Let's find somewhere a bit quieter."

"You leavin' your friend?" Tychus pointed back at the table, only to see the other woman had vanished. "Eh? Where do all your women keep goin' Jimmy?"

"To where we're headed," said Jim firmly. "Come on, Tychus. I got a much better scene for you."

Tychus was led out and away from Afterlife, his heart settling as the bass faded into the distance. Despite his injuries, he could not help but feel more than a little remorse as the club gave way into some kind of market. Hawkish looking batarians shouted advertisements at them from over the sides of their stalls, but Jim moved like he had a purpose. They finally stopped at a lonely little door guarded by a single, much more sober turian.

"Remember me?" asked Jim. "Or do I need to fetch Jeruut for a little reminder?"

"Thought you hated this place," said the turian, a sudden glowing device appearing on his wrist. He tapped it a few times and the door opened. "Watch yourselves. Start a fight, we throw you out – and this place isn't cushy like the rest of Afterlife."

 _Hell, Jimmy. I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Still… ol' Tychus ain't about to chicken out now._ Jim strode through without fear, and Tychus followed.

Where they ended up… it was like Afterlife, only more… intense. Focused. The strobe lights flashed between the deepest blues and the brightest of purples, the dancers moved like they were on drugs, and no one noticed as they entered. Jim found them a quiet table, got more drinks, and then… it was like the old days.

Jim was laughing, regaling Tychus with tales of drunken Mar Sara antics from his days as a marshal both on Mar Sara and Eden Prime. He recounted his theft of _Norad II_ and how he had told the most powerful terran alive to blow him, and how he had eventually walked away scot free thanks to a woman he had befriended. He got a little quieter at that part, before perking right up and ordering more drinks.

The night grew fuzzier after that. Much fuzzier. Tychus was presented with something called "ryncol," and it was all he could do to down it without being knocked flat on his ass. When next he reached a flash of consciousness, it was to find himself dancing like a madman next to an asari, who he vaguely recounted looking up at him and saying that she "didn't know they made them that big."

Another flash – Tychus ordered a round of drinks for everyone gathered round the bar, Jim's credit chit held high. Another – Tychus's knuckles hurt again, and there was a turian bleeding on the floor. _Hell. What did he do again?_ Jim had disappeared. Tychus looked around blearily, trying to find either his partner or one of the beautiful women he seemed to inevitably attract. _No luck._ There was, however, an enticing looking asari specimen in a corner… one who met his gaze.

This time, Tychus's brain decided to stick around. He strode over, focusing on every single step to make sure he did not stumble, arriving before the asari in what was almost a swagger.

"I've been watching you," said the asari, making Tychus's heart skip a beat. _Might be the drink though._ "I don't think I've seen anyone like you before. A lot of terrans are a bit wild… but you – you act like a man who has been reborn, seen how precious life is."

"I robbed trains," said Tychus, slurring. "They locked me up. Now I'm out – and ol' Tychus is going to make every second count."

"Tychus, please sit down," said the asari. Tychus sat.

"Your face – it has seen combat, hasn't it?" The asari leaned over, looking closely at Tychus.

"Didn't duck when the shrap flew," said Tychus a little sheepishly. "Tends to mark a man. Made some call me fearless. Made some call me foolish." Tychus shrugged. "Gave me a good shot at the folks makin' the shrap. I would call myself… bold." Tychus looked around despite himself. _Where the hell Jimmy gone?_ But then his gaze met the asari's, and he realized he didn't care. _Not for the next few hours, anyway._

"I am Morinth," said the asari, leaning back again and giving Tychus a small smile. "I look for… interesting people. Sometimes I find a few. Sometimes there's just one. Is that you?" She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering, issuing a challenge.

"I challenge anyone alive to say they can see the things I've seen," said Tychus. "I fought in the Guild Wars, watched the terran people tear each other apart over territorial disputes. I've killed men and women both. I've fought. I've stolen. I turned a good man into a criminal, and then pushed him back into the light, sacrificing myself. I spent eleven years in cryo for him."

"What man was this?" asked Morinth, leaning forward.

"Who gives a fuck about him?" asked Tychus irritably, only to see anger flash in the asari's eyes. "Eh. Fine. Jim Raynor. I gave it all up for Jim fucking Raynor."

Something strange happened to the asari. She seemed to stiffen… then soften. She looked to Tychus, and Tychus melted in her eyes. _Damn. Don't know what's goin' on under the clothes… but I'm gonna find out._

She led him out of the club, out of the market, out of anywhere recognizable. Any sense of doubt Tychus felt was dispelled the instant the asari looked at him. She took him into a distant apartment building, and up the elevator. He touched her arm and she turned, her eyes daring him. Their lips met.

They crashed through the door of her spacious apartment, her giggling as she evaded his arms.

"I leave tomorrow," she said. "I leave Omega forever. Do you think you can make my last night unforgettable?"

Tychus tried to respond, but was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea. He doubled over, coughed once, and then tried to straighten while hoping Morinth hadn't noticed. She smiled at him, and Tychus gave her an enormous grin back.

"Hell, sweetheart, I'm gonna give you the time of your life." Tychus stepped forward and she melted into his arms. Her hands caressed his face, his head… his belt loosened and Tychus's trousers fell at his feet.

"Hell," said Tychus, looking into Morinth's face. "It's about-"

The door slammed open from behind the two of them, and Tychus dropped Morinth in shock. His soon-to-be lover recovered magnificently, turning to face the door.

"Jimmy?" Tychus was confused at first, then embarrassed. "Jim, give me about two hours-"

Then another asari strode through the door, clad in red. Time seemed to stop.

"Morinth." The room exploded in blue, and Tychus was flung backwards into a couch, flailing helplessly. Furniture was being cast about everywhere as the two asari revealed that they were apparently severely psychic. Tychus crawled as best he could behind the overturned couch and vomited, confused and nauseous, erection wilting as the confusion turned to terror.

When he finally peaked over the couch, it was to find the two asari facing one another, palms flaring, objects around them floating, eyes locked and alive with… love? Hatred? Tychus retreated behind the couch again to vomit once more. When next he peered over, it was to find Morinth being grabbed by Jimmy.

"Sorry darlin'," said Jim.

The blue from Morinth's side died, and the red asari unleashed a blast that knocked Morinth off her feet. The red asari strode with purpose up to Morinth, raised a glowing blue fist and-

Tychus vomited behind the couch again. _Sweet Jesus._ He peered over, caught a glimpse of the gory mess that minutes before he was anticipating having sex with, and vomited again. Jim found him there a minute later, coughing up the many mixtures of alcohol he had imbibed over the past few hours. Jim pounded his back.

"Sorry man," said Jim. "Had to lure her out. Request of this old friend of mine. Thought unaware bait might be better."

"B- bait?" Tychus stood up with unsteady indignation. "Wait – how the hell… who…?"

"Morinth was a wanted criminal, Tychus Findlay," said the red asari, clenching and unclenching her red fist, pale eyes locked with the gore on her fingers. "She… has been brought to justice. The deception was unfortunate but unnecessary. Mr. Raynor here has ended a search centuries in the making."

"She approached me once before," said Jim, eyes downcast. "Turned her down. Didn't know who she was. Good thing too."

"Good thing too?" Tychus clenched his jaw. "Jimmy, as far as I am concerned, I am living a new life. That means I am a goddamned virgin right now – and you just ended the finest piece of ass ol' Tychus ever lay eyes on."

"Yeah," said Jim, sounding sick. "Tychus, that piece of ass would have killed you to get back at me. Sex with Morinth is lethal. Hence the whole "wanted criminal" thing."

"What?" Tychus looked back at the corpse, then at Jim, then at the red asari. "This… what?"

"I leave you two now, Mr. Raynor," said the asari, bowing her head. "If ever you come to an hour of need, know that I am in your debt." The red asari left with the kind of dignity that Tychus wished he had in that instant. He sputtered, shifting between being appalled, nauseated, and simply horrified.

"Hope you had a fun night out until now, man," said Jim, coughing and regaining some of his bearing. "Trust me – we did a good deed, even if it doesn't look that way. Plus – new job. Another old friend thinks shit is about to heat up with the Dominion. Means more good work… and pay." Jim clapped a hand on Tychus's shoulder, beaming at him. "C'mon – think of this as a lesson. You ain't the biggest badass out there no more. Plenty of aliens that could eat you alive – this was just one of 'em. You got a second chance, man. Try not to blow it doing stupid shit like this. C'mon. Tomorrow we're goin' through a Waygate. Ever wanted to see Moria?"

Jim made for the door, and Tychus followed. Jim stopped him.

"I think you're forgetting something." Jim raised his eyebrows. Tychus looked back at the apartment, but only saw what was left of Morinth.

"Aw Jim, that's sick," said Tychus. "I might be an angry virgin, but I ain't that desp-"

"No," said Jim firmly. "No. How could you…" Jim shook his head. "I meant… put your damn pants back on, Tychus."

Jim left Tychus there, covered in vomit, scrambling for his pants.

 _Welcome to your new life, Tychus Findlay. Ain't it everything you thought it would be?_

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**

 **A/N: This chapter brought to you from the U.K. Astonished it got done at all.**

 **If you remember Sudden Contact, it took a long time to build up. That's kind of the case here, too, but the next chapter is when we'll start getting into the meat of it.**

 **From what I can see, Sudden Supremacy will probably be upwards of 60 chapters. Just so you all know.**

 **Merry Christmas!**


	8. On Tyrants

**Alexei**

 _Logistics is the fucking tyrant of warfare._ Alexei's head pounded as he sorted through screen after screen of captains requesting engineers sent over to perform maintenance, doctors and medicine as the inevitable sicknesses (both minor and major) broke out among crewmen, and reports of no less than three escape attempts from the recent colonial captures.

 _Eight percent of the Armada still unaccounted for, likely lost to inclement space weather. Heaven knows we've taken enough damage from micrometeorites… can't inform the rabble of this._

 _Ice melting procedures well underway, so at the very least we will not have to worry about chasing comets to replenish water stores anytime soon. Boralis is garrisoned and mostly undamaged. Focus on that. Focus on the successes…_

At that moment, Alexei felt alone in dealing withthe sheer number of requests and alarms, but he knew for a fact that the entire chain of command was bogged down in dealing with these issues. _And it's only going to get worse over time._ His hairy knuckles danced over the glowing keyboard, clearing a battlegroup to move to the other side of the planet in case of a surprise attack from the Dominion, while also ordering the next batch of marines to be awoken and treated for cryo sickness. He studied a quick report on a dissected omnitool the scientists had "borrowed" from a captured Dominion marine, his eyes dancing over the lines while the inevitable strain set in. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He didn't register the knock on the door at first, mistaking it instead for the steady throbbing that echoed inside his skull.

"Enter," Alexei said, rubbing his temples and hoping whoever was on the other side of the door had not registered the weariness of his tone. This fear evaporated in favor of exasperation as Gerard entered, looking concerned.

"I have just been informed that there has been an unending stream of data flowing from this workstation for the last ten hours, Vice Admiral," said Gerard. "You will do no one any favors by burning yourself out so early."

"This _needs_ to be done, Gerard!" said Alexei, pushing himself from his desk and standing before the man. "Have you seen these reports? It's fucking chaos! Fistfights, maintenance failures, disease outbreaks – I would not be surprised if I start receiving pregnancy reports at this stage!" Alexei's eyes flicked back to the screen, quivering in their sockets as the notification began to pile up.

"You have delegated as much as you can, I take it?" asked Gerard, his head tilting towards the screen. "I know you prefer to handle things personally, Alexei, but you only have the one pair of hands."

"I have delegated to EDI, who has done a fine job directing engineers to perform repairs between class I and V," said Alexei, wringing his hands. "Rear Admiral Mikhailovich has been given the bulk of the busywork involving the direction of food and ammunition, while Rear Admiral Krenshaw is helping orchestrate disease treatment. I have spoken to at least seven different colonels and five different majors. It has not made a _dent_ , Gerard.

"From your perspective at least," said Gerard, looking and sounding amused. Alexei could not help but feel a stab of rage at this. "Shuttles move between ships. We have woken over 60,000 troops in the last five hours, and they were all fed and cared for. Your work is making a difference, Alexei, and things are getting done. In fact…" Gerard reached into a coat pocket, drawing a small metal watch. He clicked it open and nodded once. "…we are ahead of schedule. I feel quite comfortable, then, asking you to take care of something I judge far more important. It involves a particular conscript we picked up."

Gerard motioned for Alexei to follow before turning on a single polished boot and marching out the door without looking back. Alexei stood there for a moment, not sure whether to feel enraged or relieved before following his friend, settling for the latter.

"Captain Anderson's performance was nearly flawless, but I question the methods he used in his sortie," said Gerard, not missing a beat as Alexei fell in behind him. Crewman darted to either side and clung to the walls as the two of them walked by. "Allying with the colonials brought him victory, but I would argue that the degree of his reliance sets a bad precedent. UED firepower and ingenuity is what should win the day, not crude alliances with our inferiors."

"So long as the mission gets done, I say anything goes," replied Alexei, shrugging. "These Cerberus agents have not made any escape attempts that I am aware of, so I have little reason to criticize the man's performance." _Cerberus… it is a pity Sokholof is dead. He was the only analyst who saw, or at least cared about the holes in the data these people left behind. He could have told me more._ Alexei shrugged and rolled his neck around, cracking it twice. "The Captain seems a capable sort."

"He is one of Earth's finest, and he proved it once more on Braxis," said Gerard, stopping before the turbolift and punching the button. His mouth twitched when the readings lit up and indicated the turbolift was on the other side of the ship. _Oh. Joy._

"So, what is this little task you have for me, Gerard?" asked Alexei, rubbing his eyes.

"These Cerberus agents have been quite tight lipped, Alexei," said Gerard, a hint of anger in his voice. "The ghosts you sent have been firmly rebuffed by mental techniques, and they refuse to speak until this "Lieutenant Duran" gives the order."

"Then make Lieutenant Duran give the order," said Alexei, trying to stifle a yawn. The turbolift icon continued to creep closer to them. "I recall that he is a ghost, but he registered a bare 5 on the scale. He's not even modified, if I recall."

"They've come up with nothing," said Gerard mildly, but Alexei could hear the steel underneath. _He's frustrated. Must be why he is sending me in._ "The man has resisted all attempts at interrogation, apparently quite cheerfully. He wants to speak to an admiral – to establish communication between the UED and his former employer."

"The Illusive Man," said Alexei, remembering. Gerrard raised an eyebrow at this. "Ah. The title the late Sokholof gave the leader of Cerberus. A damnably slippery intelligence target. I take it you want me to be that admiral?"

"You are head of intelligence and a far more pragmatic man than I, Alexei," said Gerard as the turbolift finally arrived, clunking into place. "He's on _Imperator_ , with the rest of the key colonial acquisitions. I have a shuttle ready for you." He brandished a hand toward the lift's doors, which slid open and unleashed a tide of personnel who were quite surprised to see a pair of admirals before them.

"Any particular instructions, my old friend?" asked Alexei, stepping into the lift as the crowd dispersed, looking back at Gerard DuGalle.

"I leave the interrogation to your discretion, Alexei," said Gerard. "My only preference is that you do not take too much time. The Dylarian Shipyards await, and your shift has run far overlong. I need you well rested."

Alexei gave Gerard a rare salute and punched in the button. The lift chugged into life while Alexei made a quick guess at the number of times it would stop for more passengers before he reached the hangar. _Six. Six times._

After nine stops, Alexei finally emerged from the turbolift, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. A pilot in flight gear waved him over to a prepped shuttle, and he climbed aboard with a grunt while she got the checks over with.

"Strange question," said Alexei after checking her ID patch as the pilot clambered into her seat, "you have been fed, yes? The fuel and flight path was not too difficult to acquire and set up?"

"Space is a bit busy, but otherwise wasn't any more difficult than usual, Vice Admiral," replied the pilot, bringing up the display. "May I know why, sir? Is there something wrong?"

"I am trying to dispel the illusion that I am the only man doing his job within this armada," said Alexei, voice climbing in volume as the engines roared into life. He hurriedly put on his seat belt and wiped some more sweat from his brow. "I appreciate the information, Miss Parker. Carry on."

The shuttle was short and bumpy, likely due to the aforementioned "business" of space. Alexei sat in the back, trying to remember all he could about Cerberus and Anderson's report on the colonial conscripts.

 _We brought their command center up, docked it and took all the information we could from their computers. The majority of it self-destructed. Typical. At least we finally have some working omnitools and translators to make use of. I was not relishing the prospect of encountering the turians and being unable to understand their words while they remain quite capable of understanding English._

Alexei thanked the pilot and exited the craft, his polished boots squeaking against the steel of the hangar floor as he emerged. A small retinue of intelligence personnel waited for him, noticeably paling as he began to scowl.

"How hard can it be to wring information from mostly unmodified colonial grunts?" asked Alexei, shaking his head as they removed their caps and bowed their own. "Do you have _anything_ on these people?"

"Names but not service numbers, sir," said one woman at the front, a flushed looking operative that Alexei remembered being called Darcy. "Blackwell's team had better luck with the Dominion goons, from what I've heard."

"We have all the information we could possibly need on the Dominion," snapped Alexei. "I should not, I stress should _not_ be necessary to persuade colonial prisoners to divulge information. Take me to this "Duran." Quickly."

Surrounded by a flock of spooked intelligence officers, Alexei brooded on what little knowledge he had of this Cerberus operative. _Capable combatant. Biologically unmodified. Psionic rating of "5," barely a "teep" as the colonials say._

"You have not done anything so base as torture, I hope?" asked Alexei, strongly suspecting the idiots under his command had done exactly that.

"No!" said Darcy, eyes showing white as she turned to him. "Absolutely not. We ran some basic probes and attempted verbal interrogation; it was all to no avail. He ended up asking for you by name."

"Not Admiral DuGalle?" Alexei paused, wondering. Then, the anger set in. "He read one of your minds?!"

"He says he's feeling out most of the ship, sir," said Darcy, coughing nervously. "Not everyone has the same training. He might have lied about his index score, sir."

 _And you cannot even tell if he is lying?_ At this point, Alexei's anger gave way to grudging respect and slight embarrassment. _You know these operatives well. They have done admirable jobs in the past; they would not be here if they had not. If they have failed to produce anything of worth, it is not because of their incompetence. It is because these colonials are more capable than we had suspected, something I must inform Gerard of. Still… why ask for me, and not the good admiral?_

The ship grew a great deal quieter as they entered the aft prison hold, the squeak and thud of their boots becoming the only sound other than the low thrum of _Imperator's_ engines. The secretary at the desk did not even bother checking them – the warning glance Alexei gave her was clearance enough. They entered the holding area, passing two dozen bare cells in which sat the Cerberus operatives, their eyes sullen and uncooperative.

And, in the back, was the man himself. Seated in a metal folding chair, his unrestrained arms resting on the table before him, and smiling widely at them through the soundproofed glass of the two way mirror was Lieutenant Samir Duran. His eyes met Alexei, and for a moment, Alexei thought he saw a flicker of something… strange. A kind of intensity that he had never seen before. Gritting his teeth, Alexei focused on the familiar buttons of his overcoat, idly thumbing one in the process. _Nothing can get through. But… I know he already saw me. Even through the glass._ Alexei tongued the roof of his mouth before turning to Darcy, trying to relax himself so as not to inadvertently scare her further.

"We took one C10 canister rifle, a set of powered ghost armor with attached cloaking device, model unknown, and one device we believe to be a small QEC," said Darcy, eager to please. "As for the contents of his mind… nothing. He just kept asking for an admiral, then for you specifically."

"He is mine to handle; if he tries anything, shoot him," said Alexei, prompting nods from the eight operatives. "Were it not for my lingering intelligence concerns regarding this "Cerberus" group, I would have ordered him dead already; a ghost of his strength represents a considerable security risk. But… if Cerberus exists and this is not some… elaborate Dominion or KMC ruse… we need to know all we can about them. Take notes. I will crack this nut in no time."

Hoping this was true, Alexei entered the nine digit code on the door lock. It hissed open and he crossed the threshold. As the door thudded shut behind him, all background noise ceased. The window to his left was bright, with nothing apparently behind it. Despite himself, Alexei tensed as he stared at Duran, who continued to smile without saying anything.

"I am Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate," said Alexei, almost spitting out the words. "But I think you already knew that, given how you have been asking for me by name. Do you realize the extent of the shit you are in, Lieutenant? Do you know who we are?"

"Of course," replied Duran, voice smooth. "Your Expeditionary Armada is sizeable, even rivaling current known fleet estimates of the Asari Republics. You have captured Braxis and are preparing for a push further into Dominion space. You have come here, all the way from Earth, to finally shatter the corrupt Dominion and lay the lies of the Council bare to the galaxy. You are also, if I may say, a rather single-minded and zealous organization. I commend the patriotism of you and your men, Admiral. The UED is to be feared, indeed."

Alexei considered thanking the man, and quickly decided against it. He folded his arms.

"I would know all there is to know about Cerberus, Lieutenant Duran," said Alexei. "I am not happy that you have failed to comply with my team and I am a busy man besides. I suggest you speak quickly."

"I serve the interests of a man I think would be very interested to meet with you, Vice Admiral," said Duran, smile disappearing in favor of an intense stare. "I cannot offer a meaningful introduction to his nature due to standing orders, nor can I reveal to you the nature of Cerberus for I am but a small cog within it. I have the means to let you speak to him, Vice Admiral, and I very much want that to happen. I very much want cooperation between our organizations… but I assure you that cannot happen unless you comply with some of my basic requests. The man I serve can grant you all the intel you could ever need in a variety of areas… not least of which would be KMC and Dominion fleet movements. I just need you to trust me for a brief time."

"You have been impressed by the United Earth Directorate only recently, and by necessity most of your time with us has been spent confined," said Alexei, nostrils flaring. "Naturally, even with your abilities, it stands you would be confused as to your situation. Lieutenant Duran, you are in no condition to make demands or requests. As a colonial your very humanity, the means with which we can judge your actual worth, is in question. I suggest you tell us what you know, lest I assert my authority in a more nonverbal fashion."

"Vice Admiral, please, I fully understand the scope of your operations here, as well as the penalty for defiance," said Duran, holding up his palms. "I have told you all I am able. Were the situation reversed, and I were interrogating, say, Captain Anderson, would he be able to inform me to any respectable degree of the UED's military capabilities or its long term plans in any detail? I certainly doubt he would offer me a direct line of communication to Admiral DuGalle. Please. I am trying my very best."

 _What is this man's damn angle?_ Alexei's jaw clenched and immediately began to ache. His teeth ground against one another, filling his already throbbing head with unpleasant sound. _If I acquiesce, what do I teach those damned agents looking in from outside? That we should cooperate with these colonials whenever they refuse to tell us what we want to know without prodding._ Alexei felt the need to rub his temples, but resisted, his hands fluttering from his sides and back as he remembered his circumstances. _I'm getting tired, and I was already angry before I came in here. The agents are not stupid. We have a man willing to cooperate, to meet us, well, not even half way, quite a bit beyond that, and I am trying to push him to give us everything? They will see this as a worthwhile compromise._

 _Well then. Let's get on with it._

"Wait here, Lieutenant," said Alexei, turning on his heel and trying to ignore the worrying sense of dizziness that came with it. When the door opened and he walked through, it was to find the small crowd of intelligence agents had become even more anxious since he had left them.

"The QEC device, has it been studied?" asked Alexei, directing his question to the nearest agent, who suddenly looked a bit green. The man stuttered and then nodded. _This fear of me… it will not do. I'll have to take them all out drinking or something. This is getting not only tiresome, but unproductive._

"It's code locked, voice locked, and print locked, but it is fully operational, sir," said the agent. _Sawyer, probably. Or Trent. Can't remember._ "Vice Admiral, what is the plan of action?"

"I am not opposed to making alliances of convenience during our visit to this sector," said Stukov. "Torture does not work. Punishing this man in any way, threatening him… what will it accomplish? I abhor his insolence, particularly masked as it is in obsequiousness, but this presents a worthwhile opportunity, I feel." Alexei shrugged. "As for security risks, it should become rather obvious very quickly that we are occupying Braxis and possess a massive fleet. There is little to hide. Bring me the device, and fetch Savage, Graaf, and Sultan. Three of our ghosts, armed, should be enough to deal with Duran if something goes wrong."

Duran did not even raise an eyebrow as Alexei returned to him backed by three operatives in full gear, each bearing a rifle casually directed towards his legs. Alexei seated himself before Duran, planting the QEC device on the table with a soft clatter. Duran smiled widely.

"I hoped we could reach an accord, Vice Admiral," said Duran. "Thank you for your trust. I am going to input the code now." He raised his palms, looking at the ghosts with eyebrows raised. Alexei slid the device across the table and leaned back in the chair, arms folded.

Duran fiddled with the device for several seconds, apparently inputting a password with an impressive number of digits.

"Shadows smothered the flame wreathed Tarsonis," he said clearly, and then pressed his thumb somewhere on the device. It lit up and Duran stood, crossing three paces away from the table and laying the communicator on the floor.

"My part in this is done," said Duran, beaming at Alexei as he sat back down in his seat. "Please… I am sure both parties will find this discussion… enlightening." Alexei rose with a grunt, and stepped before the device, blinking as he crossed the nearly invisible net of light that shone from it.

There, standing before him as a glowing silhouette, was the man they could only ever see the shadow of. His outfit was clearly supposed to be some sort of stylish suit, a mix of black and whites that complimented his graying hair and cold blue eyes, but it just looked ridiculous to Alexei, even as he recognized it as haute KMC fashion.

His eyes and bearing, however, Alexei was duly impressed by. They betrayed no flicker of emotion as this angry unknown man dressed in an unknown military garb strode into his line of vision. The only hint of surprise was the way he looked Alexei up and down, eyes scanning, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"I do not know you," he said at last. "You are not Dominion, you are not Umojan. You are not with the ITSA, and you are certainly not with the KMC. Who are you, and where is Lieutenant Duran?"

"I am Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate," said Alexei, noting the slight intake of breath at his words. "I am here to bring peace and order to the UED's colonies, and to insure that the galaxy at large recognizes the might of a sovereign Earth. Lieutenant Duran is in custody. I must confess, I was not certain you actually existed, Illusive Man."

"Illusive Man?" He chuckled. "I have not heard that one before, although I suppose it is appropriate. Where I do not cover my own tracks, Arcturus Mengsk is only too eager to deny my existence." The Illusive Man shrugged. "If you are indeed from Earth, then I am surprised you have heard of me at all."

"Your lieutenant was very insistent that I speak with you," said Alexei, growing impatient. "He thinks we can come to some sort of accord or alliance, which I would personally not rule out. Tell me, Illusive Man, is it true that you were the Mar Sara Magistrate?"

There was a lengthy pause.

"For a time," said the Illusive Man, face passive, voice perfectly calm. "The last magistrate of Mar Sara. How much do you know?"

"Enough," said Alexei. "One of my former agents was obsessed with you. So, I am correct in saying that your most fervent desire, the thing that keeps you awake at night and then haunts your dreams, is the death of Arcturus Mengsk and exposing the lie of Tarsonis?"

"You know the answer already," said the Illusive Man. "You seem curiously well informed, particularly given the distance you had to cross. Now, so that we may come to this accord that Lieutenant Duran desires, what is _your_ most fervent desire, Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate? What is the UED here for?"

"I wish to see the race traitor, "Emperor" Mengsk, flung from the walls of Augustgrad," said Alexei. "I want to see Sarah Kerrigan and Donnel Udina burn side by side. I want to see the eagle and bolts flown over every planet in this sector. I would see Tarsonis exposed and Relay 118 secured against the alien menace as they descend into infighting. I would see the human race elevated, first above the rabble, then above the protoss. I would see our people united." _I have already secured my name in the history books. Now it is a matter of making sure the UED is the one writing those history books._

The Illusive Man breathed deeply. "You would bring justice to this sector. To the galaxy." It wasn't a question, but Alexei still nodded, watching the man's eyes, paying attention to his tone of voice. _There's an intensity there now. I think… I think we may be able to reach an agreement._

"I was not expecting you, Vice Admiral," said the Illusive Man, folding his arms back behind him. "I can safely say that no one is. General Duke is headed to Braxis as we speak, to investigate the radio silence; he thinks the protoss are responsible. He is currently stopped at Tyrador. I wish I could be there when he sees who he is dealing with." He smiled to himself, showing teeth. "Vice Admiral, you arrived at the perfect time. Warfield has begun his push against the KMC; he has begun to finally commit. Now, here comes the UED at the other side of the sector, prepared and willing to finally do what no one else had the courage to." He inclined his head. "I cannot speak for the KMC, but I can safely say that Cerberus is willing to come to your aid, for now… provided you can prove to me Lieutenant Duran is still alive."

"Get over here," said Alexei, turning to his left. Duran rose from the table and strove into the net of light.

"There is the good lieutenant," said the Illusive Man. "I trust they are treating you well?"

"Of course," said Duran, offering that irritatingly wide smile once more.

"And you have not been pitching anyone out of airlocks?" asked the Illusive Man, making Alexei give a slight start.

"As of yet, I have seen no reason to," said Duran, shrugging. "Earth is here, sir, and they are not leaving until they get what they came for. I think we may as well help them along. Korhal will not fall to the KMC alone."

The Illusive Man shook his head. "Not at the rate we are losing Waygates. Spectres eliminated another one." _That's good to know. The fewer links the Koprulu Sector has to the outside, the better._ The Illusive Man looked to Stukov. "You are what the galaxy needs, what humanity needs, Vice Admiral, but do not expect the Council to bend over while you assault the Dominion. I can secure you KMC support and help pressure the border over here, but I dearly hope you have a plan for the turians, not to mention the Council sympathizers in the Protectorate and ITSA."

"We have a few plans in place that we can execute," said Alexei, going through a mental checklist. "Tell me, Illusive Man, can you bring me Jim Raynor?"

There was another pause.

"I will not permit you to harm him," he said at last. "He is an old friend-"

"Harming him accomplishes nothing," said Alexei irritably. "I need to secure all of the worthwhile allies I can to take down Mengsk. Having his support will make the public considerably more sympathetic."

"I… can bring you Jim Raynor," said the Illusive Man. "What else?"

"If you can, find me an old and powerful krogan, a battlemaster if possible," said Alexei. "I am sure at least one works for the Combine."

"I can certainly begin my search," said the Illusive Man, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Send all data you have on the following subjects: Reapers, protheans, xel'naga, and protoss," said Alexei. "They are where we are lacking. I would also like to know what is going on in ITSA space. I was told they had fallen under attack before we left Earth." _Told, nothing. I've seen it, but it would probably be best to leave that out for now. I would dearly love to know what those bug things were before it becomes a problem._

"It can be arranged," said the Illusive Man. "And in return, I would like all available data on Earth since our exodus."

 _In return?_ Alexei almost laughed; the only thing that stopped him was the presence of a level 5 ghost to his left. Alexei nodded. _Nothing terribly useful in there anyway._

"I will inform the KMC of your presence," said the Illusive Man, sounding quite certain there would be no objection. "It should persuade them to part with certain liquid assets you may find useful, as well as to become more aggressive in pressing the border. Our alliance – if it goes well – could allow our twin fleets to meet at Korhal, to put an end to his."

 _He seems quite willing to help us._ Alexei looked to Duran, who smiled at him, and back to the Illusive Man, who simply looked intent.

"You have little idea of who we are and what our ultimate victory would look like for the galaxy," said Alexei carefully. "I appreciate our own need for allies as well as the need to put Mengsk underground, but I am surprised you would give away so much."

The Illusive Man stared into Alexei's eyes with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. He turned his head ever so slightly, mouth hanging just a tiny bit open.

"Vice Admiral, you do not go to bed with the sight of New Gettysburg burning because of your mercy," said the Illusive Man. "You did not arrive twelve minutes too late to stop Mengsk from planting the psi emitter that wiped out the remnant of the Old Families, the youngest of whom was three years old. You did not watch, as of last night, thirty-seven different politicians, both terran and alien, deny that Tarsonis was anything but an unfortunate happenstance. I am not ashamed to admit that I have _prayed_ that someday, someone would have the courage and ability to do what you are doing." The Illusive Man leaned back. "I want Mengsk to suffer. I want him to die. Your ultimate goals are meaningless to me, Vice Admiral, so long as justice is served. I cannot conceive of any possibility that your people could be worse then what we have now."

"Then we will cast down everything the false emperor has built," said Alexei, tapping into some of his own passion. "For Earth. For Tarsonis. For the good of humanity."

"Lieutenant Duran, work with these men," said the Illusive Man. "With your permission, Vice Admiral, I would like him to provide me with regular status reports. In return, he is at your disposal."

 _He was already impressed… but I may as well humor the man, considering the amount of support he is offering._ Alexei paused as he remembered he would have to explain all of this to Gerard. _It… it will be fine. When he sees the extent of the benefits the Illusive Man is offering, he will no doubt find some racist justification for accepting his aid._ He nodded.

"Then I must take my leave," said the Illusive Man. "You have given me a great deal of work to do. We will be in touch." He rubbed his jaw, looking thoughtful. "Earth… so many times we told the aliens that they would never meet anyone from Earth."

The image vanished. Duran retrieved the device from the floor and looked to Alexei, a small smile on his face this time.

"My team is at your disposal, Vice Admiral," he said. "I am pleased that went so well. You are no longer alone in your war."

"Find quarters for the Lieutenant and his men," said Alexei tersely to Darcy, who was halfway in the room, standing tentatively at the threshold. "EDI – notify Admiral DuGalle that I need to speak with him at once."

"Yes, Vice Admiral," said EDI. "Vice Admiral, I have received notifications that the camps on Braxis are set up and the doctors are groundside. They are requesting permission to proceed."

That made Alexei pause as everyone else shuffled out of the room, Duran shooting him another wide smile as he left. _With our new allies – who almost certainly have a different view of medical ethics than we – it might be best to hold off on our studies._ Alexei shrugged, irritated again.

"Tell them to proceed, but we only need to record baseline genetic differences between colonials and humans," said Alexei. "I do not want any waste and they do not need to suffer. Our goal is to understand their bodies and their unique illnesses to better protect and enrich human lives. Relay that, EDI."

"Of course, Vice Admiral," said EDI, but then Alexei remembered the headway he had made in finding an appropriate krogan.

"On second thought, I also need them to begin the experimental nano treatments," said Alexei. "It has just become more relevant than I thought. Their suffering may be unavoidable."

"Relaying orders now, Vice Admiral," said EDI, voice ringing through the cell. "Admiral DuGalle waits for you on _DSS Aleksander._ "

 _Good._ Alexei eyelids began to droop. _Soon… soon I can rest. We're making some headway._

As he stepped into the hangar once more, Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov looked out past the force field and into the stars. _Somewhere out there is General Duke, bracing himself for another confrontation with the protoss._

 _I wonder, when he sees us, will he be relieved? Or terrified beyond words?_

 _The future awaits us._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Selendis**

 **A/N: Updates are slow for a variety of reasons. I'll try to get back to the update a week thing.**

 **Past Selendis there's only one other POV we'll see regularly. Hope you all had a good new year.**

 **Yes, Newageofpower's Codex is legit, for those interested in the techier side of things. I am extremely thankful for his efforts as it will hopefully create consistency. Calm down.**


	9. The Silence After

**Selendis**

 _They stood upon the scorched hill, defiant even in the face of overwhelming odds. Dragoons and Reavers backed the zealots and Templar, their weapons trained on the force below them._

 _Artanis stood at the forefront of the army, his armor a dazzling gold against a backdrop of churned and bloodstained mud. He raised his arms to the heavens, demanding once more that the Conclave-sworn Akramos Tribe submit for the betterment of their people as a whole. Their response was immediate; the familiar horrible tingling sensation crept down the spines of Artanis's forces as the Arbiters began their descent from orbit._

"Executor?"

 _The whine of Corsairs echoed behind their forces. Artanis charged, his radiance outshining all else in sight. His forces followed in a vast clatter, each bellowing their rage through the Khala. "EN TARO TASSADAR!" they screamed, but Selendis could not help but wonder if this was what he would have wanted. The Akramos held at the top of the hill, waiting for the first wave at the edge of the hill top, only to feel a shiver, only to hear screams. The Nerazim were within their ranks, darting amongst them unseen._

 _The thunder of first shock deafened Selendis as psi blade met psi blade in a cacophony of metal and rage. Her first opponent was young, possibly no more than two centuries, and the Khala was alive with his fear. Dispelling all hesitation, she lunged, her blades dancing in splendid arcs through the thick air. His shields flared and he attempted a clumsy parry, only for his eyes to widen. He looked down to see a smoking crater in his chest, the end of a green blade poking through. As his body departed the battlefield with a scream, Zeratul gave Selendis a weary nod before vanishing._

"Executor."

 _Her next foe was a Dragoon, whose phase disrupter was glowing with the heat of its constant discharge. Selendis hacked at its shields and evaded its flailing legs before diving under its chassis, both blades raised high. Foul smelling liquid poured through in her wake, and she heard the ruined body of the protoss inside hit the ground with a horrible thud, felt for a brief instant her pain. She had no time, however, for hesitation. Close by explosions heralded the continued presence of Akramos Reavers, and she felt several of her brethren ripped from the battlefield from the injuries it inflicted._

 _She took a step forward, only to shudder from a wave of rage sent through the Khala. She recognized the feeling immediately. Sure enough, as soon as she looked to her right, there it was. An Akramos Archon, merging before her eyes. Ignoring the pang of fear, she charged for the whirling mass of energies, accompanied by many of her own warriors. The Akramos quickly formed a ring around the Archon, and frantic melee ensued. Selendis pushed against a foe half again her size, her armor grinding against his as her right psi blade locked with her opponent's. The other blade she punched in and out of the side of his shields, breaking them and driving deep into his chest cavity. By the time she broke free, it was to see the gargantuan silhouette of a Templar emerge from the cloud, its face alive with flickering light and crackling energy._

" _THORASOH'CAHP_ _!"_ _Selendis stood shoulder to shoulder with three other warriors, and they did not back down. The Archon raised an enormous glowing hand-_

"Executor! Executor, it is time!"

Selendis's eyes opened. She was standing within the former Heart of the Conclave, the Nexus to end all Nexuses. Around her bloomed the countless plants the Khalai Caste had taken the time to cultivate for the Judicators, still blooming even amidst the smoldering that was Aiur proper. Before her stood the zealot Kaldalis, his single good eye fixed on hers. Selendis unfolded her legs and stood, trying to shake off the fear.

"Pardon my disturbance, Executor," said Kaldalis, bowing his head before her, "but the Hierarch is about to begin the first assembly. He will need every voice of authority possible to help drown out the ignorance."

"You do not need my pardon, Templar," said Selendis, leading the way towards the Conclave chambers, mind still fixed on the memory of the Archon. "I thank you. My meditation had turned to rumination. I was recalling the third battle of the province of Dubalar."

"A sad memory," said Kaldalis. "Too many warriors on both sides died that day. I heard the Furinax Tribe planted the seeds for several new jungles in Dubalar, everywhere there had been a battle. They hope to discourage such carnage from happening there again."

"Adun bless the Furinax Tribe," said Selendis, remembering the warrior run through by Zeratul's blade. His name had been Kadranis, and she had fought him again, this time as a Dragoon, in Antioch. The second time they had met, he had stayed dead.

The blooming trees gave way to a small teleport pad nestled in a corner. Selendis stepped into it and felt weightless, the hidden strain of carrying her body temporarily vanishing. She reemerged in a chamber where most of the plants had given way to simple pillars adorned with the names of protoss tribes. What light streamed in was still golden, but much of the chamber was far darker than the room she had just left. Balconies dotted the walls, on which could be seen the representatives of the still barely tribes, their ceremonial dress glimmering in the half light.

At the far side of the room, above them all, was the podium on which Artanis stood. He bore still the armor he had taken to battle so many times. From where she stood, stepping into the crowds below, Selendis could not see the dents and faded patches where blood had dried and eaten into the metal, but she knew they remained still. Artanis was determined not to forget what even partial unification had cost. Selendis eyed the empty balconies and let her sadness bleed into the Khala. _Even with the Nerazim tribes stepping in to represent themselves, there are gaps. It was not quite an Aeon of Strife, but we came close. We came so close._

Hierarch Artanis, the Templar who had rejected a Conclave decree in favor of following his best friend's example, stared down at the people he was supposed to guide into the future. His eyes met with Selendis briefly, and he sent a warm greeting through the Khala. _He is happy to see a familiar face, to feel a friend. I can quite understand that._ Artanis's feelings ebbed away, and Selendis sensed he was about to begin.

"Daelaam!" called out the Hierarch, his words ringing through the minds of all present. The assembly's attention focused on Artanis, who towered above them. He stared down at them all, bleeding a mix of pride, sadness, and raw defiance. The latter was directed mostly towards the Ara Tribe situated to his left. Selendis could see Aldaris at the forefront.

"I am proud to have been given this honor – this duty," said Hierarch Artanis, inclining his head. "So too, however, am I aware of what the cost has been. Long ago, as the Judicators are so keen on reminding us, our species rent itself apart during the Aeon of Strife. We were divided. Violent. Deaf to the Khala and blind to reason. For we Khalai, our Preservers have kept the memory of this history alive and well, a cautionary tale of the dangers of disunity. The Nerazim, meanwhile, have recorded it in stories, passing along ancient tales of battles fought long ago by their ancestors. To them, the Aeon of Strife is a cautionary tale about loss of control. Let it be clear then, that our Civil War – whatever the Preservers end up naming it – was undesirable to all parties. We became separate and we lost control."

"I am aware of the blame that can be laid at my feet. I took up arms against the Conclave, whom I viewed as unjust and unbending, despite having granted me the title of Executor. I followed Tassadar into the mouth of hell itself and opted to continue his fight and further associate myself with his new allies, the Nerazim. I understand the consequences of these decisions, but I do not and will not repent." A surge of anger ran through the Khala, passionate and infectious enough for Selendis to join in without understanding why. Artanis slammed an armored glove against his podium.

"I stood for the freedoms of the Nerazim and the wellbeing of other sapient races! I say now to any of you that stand against me that, while I will stay my hand, you cannot and will not receive my respect, and you are undeserving of honor. The times are changing, my brothers and sisters. The future is uncertain, and if our society remains rigid and unbending, we will not survive it."

"Had the war dragged on any longer, _Hierarch,_ I would be inclined to agree," called out a familiar voice, weary but articulate. The audience turned to look to Judicator Aldaris, former speaker for the now defunct Conclave. Selendis felt a surge of her own anger towards the Judicator, but Aldaris did not bother to return any of his own. He just felt… exhausted. "As it stands, I see little evidence that the High Templar could not have weathered the zerg storm, particularly given that Tassadar eliminated the Overmind with only a fraction of the Golden Armada and the aid of a few lesser races. What threatens us, Hierarch, beyond the folly of your convictions?"

Selendis expected an uproar, but all she got was silence. Dread. It did not take her long to realize why. _The two of them are the real heart of the conflict. If they cannot reach some kind of agreement here…_ The audience looked back and forth between the Judicator and Hierarch, one despairing, the other seething. Fortunately a voice, clear and loud, broke the smothering silence."

"Judicator Aldaris," called out Matriarch Razagal from her own balcony, flanked by Nerazim warriors clad in the bones of zerg, "we Nerazim lack the vaunted Preservers of those who follow the Khala, but I walked on Aiur during the days of Adun. I remember him well. Shall I recount to you the purges carried out in the name of your religion? Shall I list the crimes of your much late and lamented Conclave against my own people? I regret the loss of life in the formation of the Daelaam Hierarchy, Judicator, but I cannot see the fall of the Conclave as anything less than justice. As for the Overmind – if you truly believe that Its destruction was anything less than a miracle wrought by the greatest warrior since Adun himself, then I name you a fool. The less charitable might call you a heretic. En taro Tassadar!"

"EN TARO TASSADAR!" called out countless voices as one, both Khalai and Nerazim alike. Aldaris sat once more, despair still flowing thick from his mind, only now it was tempered with a acidic sensation of resentment. Selendis looked up at the small form of the Matriarch, wondering. _Does she mean those words, truly? She always struck me as so gentle in private, so unjudgmental… I think she is simply trying to work the crowd, to aid Artanis. She did it well._ As Razagal lacked a link to the Khala, there was no way to be sure. Selendis had yet to become used to that. _Nerazim can lie to one another. They can lie to us, and their minds are naturally shielded! I can understand the trepidation some must feel. I can even share it._

"En taro Tassadar," said Artanis quietly, the words clearly meaning something quite different to him than the chorus of voices before. He shifted where he stood. "Some of you may have heard rumors that we are planning on overturning the Dae'uhl, a longstanding core tenet of the protoss. It is with steel and certainty in my hearts that I say, yes, we will no longer adhere to this law." Again, there was a surge of anger, but Selendis did not sense it coming from the Ara Tribe and their supporters, but instead many of the Sargas and Furinax. "We are extending a greeting to the Citadel Council as we speak, and will be sending our envoys within the next day. Aldaris and Razagal will be the voices of the Khalai and Nerazim, respectively."

That took the crowd by surprise, as Selendis suspected it would. Many turned to Aldaris, who stood again.

"I have strong and lingering doubts regarding the rightness of Artanis's crusade and his certainty that the Overmind heralded the end of our race, but I cannot deny the evidence provided by him and his geth allies," said Aldaris. "The Reaper threat is real, and perhaps Artanis misspoke. The Dae'uhl holds, but we are following its tenet of offering protection from hostile forces in favor of protecting the lesser races from ourselves. Noninterference means nothing if it results in extinction. Take heart, Templar, we are agreed in this matter." The stink of despair left Aldaris for a moment, replaced instead by a glowing ember of hope. Aldaris looked down at Selendis, and she sent out a terse feeling of acknowledgement and approval.

"It is time to rebuild and look to our future as one people under the Daelaam Hierarchy," said Artanis, sounding relieved that the crowd had been calmed by Aldaris's words. He looked to the Matriarch. "The quarian people remain sequestered on Shakuras. It remains to be seen how we are supposed to reintroduce them to galactic society at large. Have you anything to report, Matriarch? Can we bring a representative with us to the Citadel?"

"As of this time I would judge that unwise," said the Matriarch. "Several of their admirals breed resentment among their people still, against the protoss and Council both. Prelate Zeratul has begun to take steps to try and reintegrate the geth and quarians while on a mission to Council space; it is why he did not come to this meeting. Unfortunately, he believes it may take centuries. Fortunately, the quarians have proven themselves polite enough guests on Shakuras. To be truthful, if they wished to stay in permanence, there would be little complaint amongst my people. If they fail to reintegrate with the galaxy proper, we would be happy to integrate them with us."

 _Is that what Zeratul was doing? Did Razagal and he plan this?_ Selendis did not know, and it vexed her. _I can understand, sometimes, why others have trouble trusting the Dark Templar. Their methods are subtle and their minds unknowable._ Selendis shook her head. _I have stood shoulder to shoulder with Nerazim warriors. They did not fail me. They did not betray me. And they did not shame themselves._

"The geth continue to reinforce their borders and purge Heretic programs, they have taught us much about the Reapers," said Artanis. "A small delegation will accompany us to the Citadel to reopen their embassy. With their help, we should be able to persuade the Council of the pressing nature of this threat. I only hope that we have not taken too long already." Artanis paused for a moment. Now he was emitting melancholy, his thoughts lingering on the blood soaked and wreckage covered fields of Aiur.

"Executor Selendis will accompany Aldaris to the Citadel and command the Templar there," announced Artanis, snapping out of it. "I have the utmost confidence in her abilities. Praetor Fenix will be assisting her."

The Praetor was noticeably absent. _Turning down the position of Hierarch I can understand, but this? This is inexcusable. What message does he send through his absence? That Artanis is unworthy of his attention?_ Selendis struggled to contain her anger, letting only the faintest hint of resentment trickle into the Khala. Thankfully, it was reassuring to feel the approval radiating through most of the chamber; no one else had a word to say against the Praetor. Not even Aldaris.

"Aside from that, all that remains is to continue the long process of rebuilding," said Artanis. "I have sent aid to the Antioch province and am pulling support from our colonies. The Nerazim have sent their own teams to assist with clearing the wreckage, for which I am greatly thankful. The conflict is over, brothers and sisters. May we never have to suffer through another like it again. En taro Tassadar."

This time the crowd murmured it back. The Hierarch left his podium and they dispersed, mostly satisfied from what Selendis could tell. She scanned the crowd once more, making quite certain the Fenix was not present. _The fool._ She thought she knew where he was. She stepped back into the teleport pad and left the Nexus, almost running.

Sure enough, she found him at the Templar Archives among the shelves, eyes shut, seated cross-legged, hand pressed to a small glowing orb. He opened his eyes fast enough when she approached.

"Executor," said Fenix, standing immediately. He towered over her, but shrunk slightly before her gaze. "I… continue my studies. I have mastered all martial pursuits, indeed, I mastered them long ago. But… Tassadar proved that there is more to achieving victory than superior-"

"Tassadar would have been present at that assembly," snapped Selendis. She regretted it immediately. Fenix simply stared at her, eyes dull. Selendis began to apologize, only to be stopped by Fenix. He raised his palms.

"I need you to understand," he said. "Executor, I will not fail you on the Citadel as I failed you here. I simply need you to understand."

Selendis was not in much of a position to argue. She pressed her palms against Fenix's and found herself-

 _Everything blanketed in choking dust. Beneath the protoss shields, still barely holding, they die by inches. The burning light of Aurilar-Kedraxis flares to Fenix's left, and then fades. The sky goes completely black. Their allies, the terrans and turians are slowly smothering atop the hill they had been sent to die on. Some of their lights flicker and fade as Fenix watches._

 _Endlessly, the night presses on. All around them, everything chokes and freezes. Zerg. Protoss. Asari. The world utterly destroyed by a being beyond anything they had seen before. Running through Fenix's head, over and over, is the sensation of having failed his friends. His people. All peoples. His eyes begin to close…_

 _High above, a light shines, a sudden incandescent flare. The Khala, previously weak and full of despair, suddenly BURNS unlike anything Fenix had ever felt before. Wind suddenly whips Fenix's face and the dust clears, parting for miles around, a brown sea parting in the face of indescribable energy. Weakened, Fenix raised his head and looked to his shattered band of warriors. Many lay still, but a few still stirred and woke. Fenix looked to the hill, and then to the distance. The Overmind looked back, but not at him… at the light._

 _Fenix reached out and was blinded. What he felt high above, coursing through his mind, it was beyond anything he had ever felt… yet it was familiar. It was so familiar. The heat pulsed and raced through the Khala, and Fenix could not help but shiver in awe and wonder. The light above grew closer and closer, shining brighter than any sun. Fenix felt Adrien Victus clinging on for dear life and then, in a few final moments of mixed terror, resignation, and satisfaction, being ripped from his vessel and then from his existence. That left Tassadar, Tassadar his friend, Tassadar **burning.**_

 _Fenix could hear Artanis then, screaming, begging Tassadar to stop. Fenix did not think Tassadar could hear him. The light crossed the empty skies, bleeding orange, purple, and silver. Fenix shuddered once, and then twice with the intensity. Then… it changed. Seemed to fade. The vessel above thundered once and reached ungodly speeds. It slammed into the Overmind with incredible force and Fenix was forced backward by the shockwave, blinded by the light._

 _With a hand covering his face, he watched the vague silhouette of the Overmind shake violently and shatter, sending a massive ghastly groan through the cosmos, but Fenix could feel nothing but worry. At what cost came this victory? So many had died. Tentatively, daring to hope, Fenix reached out for Tassadar once more, hoping against hope had found some way to survive, to return to Aiur and set right the Conclave._

 _The tendrils of his mind reached out and found Tassadar, ebbing away in all directions. For the briefest of moments, he felt the faintest hint of recognition and warmth, but it was swiftly eclipsed by the sensation of reaching out to a great yawning emptiness. He was gone. Fenix had failed him._

Selendis pulled away then, and looked into Fenix's eyes. He returned her gaze with a low, fervent intensity.

"I failed him because I could not break the zerg lines fast enough," he said, mind resonating with shame. "Because I could not protect him from the damnable Torrasque. Because I could not protect myself or my allies from the Overmind's orbital platform. I turned myself to martial pursuits because it came easily to me. My neglect of the immaterial cost us the greatest protoss to have ever lived." His eyes flickered. "The greatest friend I had ever known."

"You were expected at the assembly," said Selendis gently. "I respect your efforts, Fenix, and you have my sympathy, always. But as your Executor, I cannot condone neglect of duty. Even in favor of your studies. Fenix…"

"I shall not fall short of your expectations again, Executor," said Fenix, resigned and sad.

"Good," said Selendis, clamping a hand on his shoulder, which took quite a bit of reaching. "Tomorrow, we go to the Citadel. I am sure you will not disappoint."

Fenix offered Selendis a nod, and then returned to his orb. Selendis walked away, only to stumble, dizzy from the vision. She continued onward, still seeing glimpses of the burning wreckage of _Momentum_ , of witnessing the last moments of the savior of the protoss.

She returned then, to the Heart of the Conclave, which no doubt Artanis would rename any day now. Aldaris and Razagal waited for her alongside Artanis, as Selendis suspected they would. _Representing the three aspects of our people's society. Aldaris looks to the glory and folly of the past, Razagal sees the problems of the present, and Artanis looks to the hopeful future._ Still slightly dizzy, she greeted them.

"En taro Tassadar, Executor," said Artanis, inclining his head. "I thank you for your presence, both here and in the assembly. I suspect you went to track down Fenix?"

"He has become devoted to his studies since the conclusion of the conflict," said Selendis. "Possibly to the exclusion of all else; he does not seem capable of the feat of moderation. Still, I am glad to have him at my side. He sends his humblest apologies."

"Fenix's distaste for politics is well-known," said Artanis, looking to the other two and sharing a nod with them, "I doubt anyone will truly take his absence as meaning an insult. I certainly will not, and I understand his reasoning. I… have revisited that day many times myself, wondering if I could have done something different."

"Tassadar's survival would still have meant war, Hierarch," said Aldaris bluntly. "I cannot speak for the casualties, but if he was truly capable of wielding such energies then-"

"Do not speak of him with such flippancy!" said Artanis, rounding on Aldaris furiously. "You were not there, Aldaris! And you refuse to even look, to see his final moments! He was an exemplar – he was the best any protoss could be."

"Have you forgotten Adun?" asked Aldaris dryly, making Razagal laugh.

"We certainly have not," said she calmly. "The Nerazim owe our freedom and way of life to Adun. If you cannot follow Tassadar's example, Judicator, instead follow his."

"There is no evidence in the records of Adun's heresy," said Aldaris, paling, quivering slightly.

"I was there, Judicator," said Razagal gently. "I spoke to him myself. But I shall not press the point. I thank you for your support for making contact with the Council. I think our peoples shall be relieved to have found something that we all agree on."

"There are those among the Ara who want me dead for that support," said Aldaris. "The Conclave still has many supporters, Hierarch. I urge caution." Aldaris looked away. "…and mercy. Even if they blaspheme, please… do not inflict further misery on our people through wanton slaughter."

"I shall stay my hand so long as they stay theirs," said Artanis firmly. "As for tomorrow – you are all ready?"

"I have picked out the finest warriors who wanted to come," said Razagal, before laughing. "There were a surprising number to pick from. Zeratul has been telling tall tales about the Citadel, I think. I am ready, Hierarch. Moreover, I am eager. It has been too long since I have seen something truly new, truly unknown. I am sure these aliens will not disappoint."

"The fleet is ready, Hierarch," said Selendis. "Not all of them are yet comfortable calling me Executor, but I am certain Fenix will beat it out of them sooner or later."

"And I am quite ready to leave this place, Hierarch," said Aldaris. "While I may have… reservations about the rightness of much of your cause, I have no desire to watch all life in the galaxy die out of simple spite. I wish I could see all the remaining Judicators felt the same way. I will not rest until the galaxy is made fully aware of the Reaper threat. Is the geth delegation ready?"

"They wait for us already," said Artanis. "If that is all… thank you. When you return, it will be to a much restored Aiur, I promise you. En taro… Aiur."

"Adun toridas," said Razagal. Selendis and Aldaris said nothing, and remained while the other two left to take care of their assorted duties. Aldaris sat beside a tree and looked up at Selendis, who watched him with a mixture of caution and pity.

"I will not cause you trouble, Executor," said Aldaris, and Selendis knew he was telling the truth. "In truth… I too, sometimes share the grief of Fenix and Artanis. Not for failing to save Tassadar, but…" He trailed off and looked away before starting again. "He and Zeratul tried to make me see reason, to recant. I almost wavered, but…" He stared at his hands, stretched out before him. "So much blood. An entire generation of our people, lost. Did the Nerazim suffer such losses? Entire tribes extinguished because of Artanis's crusade? Sometimes I cannot sleep for the rage, the rage that only Templar should feel. But I know that pressing the issue, fighting once more…" Aldaris shook his head.

"For what it is worth, your restraint is much needed and greatly appreciated, Judicator," said Selendis, extending a hand. Aldaris looked to the hand, and then to Selendis. He rose without taking it.

"For all my regrets, these hands have never spilled the blood of another protoss, Executor," said Aldaris, skin turning a shade of red. "I do not need pity from those far more deserving of it. I will not trouble you, but do not make the mistake of thinking I have forgiven. I work with the Hierarch because duty and honor demand it."

"Of course, Aldaris," said Selendis, hands clenching and unclenching, rage boiling. "Excuse me."

She left him there by the tree, hiding in the building that had once been the seat of his beloved Conclave. Trying to cool her anger, Selendis sought out a quiet hilltop, trying to ignore the flashes of battles past that had taken place on many like it. Tried to ignore the flashes of the hilltop to which Fenix had sent the terrans and turians.

Kaldalis found her there, meditating this time far more successfully, and shook her awake under the night sky.

"You will be leaving shortly, Executor, but you may want to see this." Kaldalis presented her with a small crystal. She tapped into it and found an overview of Braxis; live feed from an Observer.

"Terrans," said Kaldalis. "Millions of them. We do not recognize their vessels. Check two days back."

Selendis did so, and was unsurprised to find footage of terrans waging war against one another.

"The zerg swarms, the geth achieve consensus, and the terrans fight one another," said Selendis. "It is the way of things. I cannot even keep track of the number of terran factions. Is this cause for alarm? We have retrieved everything we need from Braxis already."

"These are new ships, Executor," said Kaldalis. "We have checked all records on battlecruiser designs and profiles. Their emblem is also different – some kind of avian creature and a set of stylized lightning bolts. Executor, they appear to be invading the Dominion."

"And we are about to politically court the Dominion," said Selendis, realization dawning. "I see. Thank you for informing me, Kaldalis. I shall keep an eye on the situation." She stored the crystal in a small pouch at her side. "Was there anything else?"

"Nothing," said Kaldalis. "Only… be careful among the lesser races, Executor. They may not take kindly to our meddling in their affairs."

Selendis rested a hand on Kaldalis's shoulder, offering a small laugh. "Fear not, brave Templar, for there is little they can do to stop us from doing so."

 _Khas, Adun, Tassadar… let me be right. Let this nightmare be worth it._

In the darkness inside her mind, the young Templar stared back at Selendis, eyes sad and questioning.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tali'zorah**

 **A/N: Fast update! Wooo!**

 **Next chapter: hot quarian, geth, and protoss action! Wooo!**

 **Protoss are still really hard to write! Wooo?**


	10. Abandoned

**Tali'zorah**

Despite many of her younger friends having done so on Pilgrimage, Tali'zorah had never been to ITSA space. From what she had been told after their visitations, the smallest terran nation was a peaceful one, forgiving the occasional pirate raid. The settled worlds were mostly agrarian; like her own people on Shakuras, the terrans were still starting from scratch in most respects. And, like her people, they too shared their land with another race.

"Elcor make up about a third of the population these days," Ria vas Qwib Qwib had said upon her return to Shakuras. "Sad to think about, isn't it? They lost their homeworld too, most of their people with it. It should've been the elcor welcoming in the terrans, not the other way around."

Ria had described vast fields of grain harvested by automated machinery interspersed with the surprisingly large and complex settlements the terrans had created with their famous SCVs. _What I wouldn't give to take one of those apart._ Many pilgrims had sworn to bring back the schematics or even an intact SCV, and all had so far been disappointed. The terrans were rightfully protective of their industrial secrets. The only non-terran race seen in the SCVs so far had been indentured batarians over in the KMC frontier. _And those batarians are not going anywhere or telling anybody anything in a hurry… and a pilgrim would have to be mad to brave the KMs._

Tali sighed, watching part of her visor fog briefly from the sudden exhalation. She pushed her leg left to right on the co-pilot's seat, turning it back and forth. Zeratul watched her out of the corner of his eye, his lanky form topping her by two feet, even sitting down. From behind, the _thing_ whirred and clicked as it surveyed the instruments.

"Might be best to tune in to ITSA channels as we make our approach," said Reegar, arms folded and standing a healthy distance from the geth. "Gives us a better idea what we're up against. If it's all business as usual, chances are we gotta dig Veetor out of some government installation and warn off other pilgrims from coming here. And if it isn't business as usual…"

"Then you'll need your rocket launcher," said Tali, pointing to a glowing green crystal attached to the monitor in front of her and tilting her head in question towards Zeratul. Zeratul inclined his head in response, and Tali twisted the device.

"…looped emergency broadcast to all Eden Prime residents," said a woman's voice, emanating from the crystal, "do not approach Constant. I repeat: do NOT approach Constant. We have confirmed the absence of the invader's ship, but an unidentified force has secured the city against all visitors. Do NOT approach. Automated security systems are compromised and self-replicating. ITSA military assets still tied up on Terra Nova, Elysium, and Benning. Stay clear and wait for an official military response. This is a looped emergency broadcast…"

"Invaders?" Tali tapped the crystal and let the faint sound of the Star Relic's engines dominate the background once more. "Prelate, can we get any kind of visual?"

Zeratul turned to his own monitor and tapped a few unseen keys. With a soft whirr, an overlay of the planet was projected into the center of the room, clipping slightly with the _thing_ , which moved out of the way swiftly. Without being asked, Zeratul zeroed in on the capital city, Constant, from which Veetor's pip was blinking.

"Because he couldn't show up anywhere else, naturally," said Reegar, shaking his head. "At least he's still alive." He took a closer look. "City looks pretty intact for having had, uh, "invaders.""

"Prelate-Zeratul, approach may be difficult," said the thing. "Terran missile turrets have noted detection capabilities and potent guidance and tracking systems. Recommend approaching Constant on foot."

"You don't think you can sneak in?" asked Tali, ignoring the _thing_ and addressing Zeratul. Slowly, Zeratul shook his head.

"The terrans and turians are quite diligent when it comes to fortifying their colonies," said Zeratul. "Even with my experience, even with the technologies at hand, I am afraid Legion is quite right." He shifted forward, looking at the glowing outlines of the buildings intently. "These turrets are new. I checked the orbiting observer's feed three days ago; I saw perhaps six turrets at most. The systems do indeed appear to be self-replicating."

"Tali can hack anything," said Reegar confidently, making Tali smile underneath her helmet. "If we gotta tangle with some out of control AI, VI, whatever, she can shut it down. And, if the way to the control panel ain't clear, you and me can just shoot or slice whatever's in the way."

 _Spoken like a marine._ Tali looked to the _thing_ and watched its head turn back and forth between the two of them.

"This platform contains 1,183 programs," said the thing. "This platform typically carries two weapons during field operations. We will assist in whatever fashion creators and Zeratul-Prelate deems us best suited."

 _Well, what you are best suited at is killing quarians, so I'd prefer if you stayed on the ship._ Tali held her tongue, though. She still got a warning glance from Zeratul.

"I will take us in slowly," said Zeratul. "Local defense forces appear to have kept their distance… hmm. Last I checked, Raynor wasn't planning on returning to Eden Prime anytime soon, so I doubt he's here. A warm reception seems unlikely. We should retrieve Veetor'nara and leave."

"What, and miss out on the warm terran hospitality?" Reegar shrugged. "If you say so, sir. I'll go get my gear. No sign of siege tanks?"

"No," said Zeratul, eyes flicking over the overlay one more time before turning back to the controls and switching them off. "Aside from Veetor, there are no signs of life. I reach out and sense only fear… and a lingering scent of agony." Zeratul said nothing more, simply brooding over his controls as the Star Relic closed the distance to Eden Prime.

Reegar gave a low whistle. "Well, on that happy note, Tali, you coming with?"

"Sure thing," said Tali, abandoning her seat and following the marine out of the small bridge. To both of their relief's, the geth did not follow.

"I'm actually a little relieved," said Reegar as they walked down the dark purple tube that was the main corridor of the ship, making a beeline for the cargo hold. "Terran siege tanks are a real bitch to deal with, 'specially if they've been fitted with kinetic barriers. Had to dig poor Razza out of a Dominion holding facility once. Damn things cratered anyone stupid enough to get even remotely close. Had to send in a Templar to deal with 'em." They reached the end of the corridor, and the entrance portal to the cargo hold slid open at their approach.

"So, you're not worried about what we might find down there?" asked Tali as the two of them parted, moving towards their own gear.

"Ma'am, "worried" is what the Admiralty Conclave officials get when voting time comes around," said Reegar, bending over and collapsing his rocket launcher into a more compact shape. "Marines don't get worried. Maybe cautious, but not worried." He hoisted an assault rifle before folding that into shape and attaching it to his back as well. "Whatever happens, I'm sure you and the Prelate will have it handled. Ma'am."

Tali gave him a quick glance, hoping he could see the appreciative smile beneath the helmet. Her own armament consisted of a simple pistol and shotgun, each loaded with armor piercing rounds. _Nothing fancy._ Once they were secured at her hip and back respectively, she began tapping her real weapon on her wrist. Her omnitool lit up as she checked each function, and made sure the khaydarin crystal was still secure in place. Despite her own sense of, well, worry, she could not help but hope she'd get to try out that little function on this excursion. _And it should work. Zeratul checked it himself._

"Think the tin can will pull its weight?" asked Tali as the ship wobbled from the rigors of atmospheric entry. _And even then it's barely noticeable. Astounding._ Once again, Tali wished she had the opportunity to dissect the protoss ship. _I wonder what Zeratul thinks when he reads those particular thoughts?"_

"Don't see how it couldn't," said Reegar, surprising Tali. He leaned against a shaking wall and looked at Tali, shrugging. "What? I may feel the compulsion to shoot the damn thing every time it looks at me, but that don't mean I'm gonna sell the fucker short. Tali, I've seen the geth in action. We've both seen the protoss in action. Just between the two of us, I pity whatever's down there."

"You don't think we're going to contribute?" asked Tali, an edge creeping into her voice. "We _made_ those things, and for all the faults of the Migrant Fleet, at least we haven't spent most of our recent history rendering ourselves extinct over a religious dispute!"

"What do you call our spat with the geth then?" asked Reegar. Tali began to suspect he was enjoying playing devil's advocate. _He's just trying to wind me up._

"Trying to right an ancient wrong," said Tali, not quite managing real conviction. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. "You said I could hack anything."

"We'll have our part to play, Tali," said Reegar, crossing the hold and laying a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Last I checked, neither of 'em brought a rocket launcher. Or the deadliest combat drone ever conceived."

Tali chuckled at this. "Thanks, Reegar."

"Sometimes I have a hard time remembering where we're supposed to fit in the scheme of things," said Reegar, removing a hand. "Ain't many of us left, and we're at the mercy at an indecent galaxy. Doesn't mean we're helpless. Doesn't mean we're done."

Tali nodded. "Time to prove it, then. Let's get Veetor out of there."

The Star Relic touched down with nary a sound or even a bump. Zeratul and the geth emerged from the corridor, weapons already strapped on to their wrist and back respectively.

"I only detect a single sign of life," said Zeratul, resting his hand on the control that would open the Star Relic to the world. "The thoughts are feverish, fixated on the image of a single ship." Zeratul shuddered. "I think… no, I know something terrible has happened here. These defenses… I think Veetor is afraid. Afraid of something coming back." Zeratul looked to his three assorted companions, his bearing suddenly uncertain. _And that… that makes me worried. The same way a Conclave official would be worried come voting time._ "It is clear he set up these defenses. For both his own safety, and the safety of the people living here, we need to find him and remove him from this planet." Zeratul looked to the hatch, almost as if trying to see through the metal and into the city. "And, if we can, I would like to discover what happened here. There is curiously little wreckage, especially given the violent nature of the terrans. The only force that could have entered the city and removed everyone without causing such damage…" _It would have to be a protoss force. And none of us would want that to be true. Not when Aiur's wounds are only just being bound._ Tali was starting to feel guilty about the "extinction through religious war" comment from earlier.

"Adun toridas, my friends," said Zeratul firmly, tapping the control and letting the hatch drop. Sunlight streamed in from the world beyond, and Tali gasped at how _green_ it was. _Haven't seen this amount of life since my Pilgrimage._ Tali didn't have time to admire it for too long, however. She exited the craft on the heels of Reegar, who had produced his assault rifle and immediately began scanning once they had exited the Star Relic. Beyond them were the fields of Eden Prime. Behind them, Tali saw the vast expanse of steel that was the Eden Prime capital, Constant. _It's… quite a bit grungier than the structures I saw on Umoja._

"Noting large numbers of AA turrets," said the geth. "Irregular pattern, but no obvious gaps in defensive line. Consistent with described paranoia and irrational mindset. Recommend caution."

"Do _you_ have any idea what could have done this?" asked Tali, leaving the implication unsaid.

"We have just reached consensus," said the geth. "Twenty-seven percent of programs suspect some kind of protoss involvement given known protoss religious schisms and disregard for lesser life. Seventy percent of programs suspect Reaper or Reaper asset involvement, given known interest in Koprulu species and advanced technology. Three percent undecided."

"Reaper assets – like Heretic geth?" asked Zeratul. "I thought the purging of those programs was near complete?"

"Deciphered data indicates potential for other existing assets within the galaxy," said the geth while Tali and Reegar looked to each other in confusion. "Data is irrelevant at this time. Recommend pressing forward with current task to achieve group consensus on laying blame."

Tali couldn't help but snort at the bluntness at that, and didn't even feel guilty for doing so. _Probably because that sort of thing reminds me of Reegar._

They entered the city through the main road. The checkpoint's barriers were down, but there was no one manning the booths. The missile turrets seated on top of many of the outer buildings span and span, the only movement to be seen. Buildings filled their vision on either side of them, and the green very quickly gave way to the steel gray.

The ground underneath them was damp, and judging by the amount of detritus strewn about the streets (tree branches, parts of old signs, the odd piece of furniture) it became quite clear that there had been some kind of massive storm recently. _I wonder if any blood got washed away in the flood? They invaded and let the storm cover their tracks…_

"This don't feel like a battlefield," said Reegar, almost making Tali jump. "You feel it, Zeratul? When a battle's done, the air's thick with nasty smells and all kinds of emotion, a right stew of misery. Lasts for days afterward. This… this reminds me of the time I stumbled into the ship's morgue by accident. All quiet. All sterilized. You sure Veetor's out there?"

"That way," said Zeratul, extending a long finger in the direction of the rising sun. "He is here. But yes… your words resonate. I would dearly like to know what happened here."

"Shells," said Tali, pointing to a street corner. They moved quickly towards it, and Tali crouched, running her fingers over the length of the massive casings. _Keelah, the terrans like their guns big._ "They fought." Her eyes caught a dull streak of brown and followed it. It stretched for about three feet and disappeared. "I think they, whoever they were, took the marine down and dragged him on to some kind of stretcher. The blood smear just ends, right there. Look."

"Observational evidence corroborates this theory," said the geth. "Alert: examination of recent events on the extranet reveals string of attacks in ITSA space, all in a line bearing for turian space. Extreme likelihood of a single force being responsible."

"Targeting terrans? Or the ITSA?" Zeratul sounded quite weary. "I am sure we will find out. Come – I am sure Veetor will be eager to leave this nightmare."

They continued onward, leaving the shells where they found them. The silence descended once more. They reached the center of the city without encountering anything else. The command center loomed before them, and for some reason Tali could not help but feel a chill.

"Another sign of conflict," said Tali, pointing to a street adjacent to the command center. There, lying forsaken in the street, was one of the enormous gauss rifles the terrans were so fond of. Carved crudely on to its side were a series of terran letters.

"Jessie," said Zeratul, grasping the weapon and raising it up to his eyes. "Odd. I detect a lingering emotional attachment to this weapon." He laid it carefully back down on the ground before looking around sharply, as if he had seen something startling. "This plaza… I wish to leave it. Now."

They did not question the Prelate, following him away from the command center. Tali cast longing eyes back at it, knowing quite well the treasure trove of information that lay within. _That's not what we're here for, Tali'zorah._ _We're not scavengers._

"Hey, I hate to be the one to bring this up," said Reegar, "but them terrans said the defenses were automated and self-replicating. Now, I'm willing to believe Zeratul when he says Veetor's responsible, but how are a bunch of missile turrets keepin' the terrans out? Shouldn't there be…?" Reegar froze as a low droning filled the air. "I _had_ to be the one to bring it up."

Zeratul faded from sight while Tali took cover behind a set of stairs leading into what she guessed was an apartment complex. Reegar had ducked into an alley, while the geth had doubtlessly achieved consensus and found the most efficient piece of cover like the soulless number cruncher it was. Tali couldn't see it and didn't care.

Rounding the buildings up ahead came a strange sight, one Tali had not seen before. It looked like a series of wings strapped to a chassis that bore a single engine. Lights shone from the chassis and the ship stopped, apparently scanning the area. Tali kept her head down.

"Scanning battlefield conditions." The voice, halting and mechanical, came from the ship. A sharp klaxon followed its statement, making Tali jump. "Alert. Unknown presence detected. Profile registers as: protoss. Dark. Templar. Awaiting order." Tali's heart froze as she awaited the verdict. _Keelah! How the hell did it spot Zeratul?_ She looked across the way to Reegar, who was now shouldering his rocket launcher.

"Command authority acknowledged. Engaging." There was an audible clunk followed by the popping of gunfire. Tali rose, waving her hands at the ship and yelling Veetor's name.

"Auto-turrets engaged. Additional profiles detected: unknown. Unknown. Geth. Command authority registered. Engaging." The ship's chassis flared, and a small metal sphere covered in spikes emerged from the ship. Tali's suit pinged as it registered the system now tracking it.

"Get out of here!" called out Reegar, his launcher flaring and leaving Tali's ears ringing. She backed away, tapping her omnitool all the while. The ship deployed another device, this time a spinning metal object. It flared, and the rocket burst, filling the air with orange and showering the ground with debris.

Tali backed up, tapped a few final keys on her omnitool, and held it steady before her. The sphere finally locked on completely and launched, bearing directly for her. A neat flick of the wrist sent a burst of flame in its direction, and the two projectiles collided and filled the sky with thunder.

Tali felt a sensation like a hard slap against her arm and fell back behind a nearby alley, checking her barriers. _Bosh'tet. Stupid oversized terran rounds._ Her barriers regenerated quickly, but did little to dull the hammering of her heart. Reegar was yelling expletives at the automated ship as the auto turrets continued to chug. A quick peek around the corner revealed the damned thing plopping out another one, which began to shower the buildings around Reegar with slugs. Reegar's gaze met with Tali's, and he motioned her to move back before vanishing further down the alley. Tali did not hesitate to comply with his suggestion, moving farther down the street away from the automated vessel. _It didn't register us as quarian. Why?_ Despite her fear, she could not help but feel sorry for Veetor, who was probably quaking in his suit at the mention of unknown profiles.

The vessel remained locked where it was, and Tali rounded a street corner and vanished from sight. She suspected it was locked in place and looking for Zeratul but could not be sure. There was no sign of l-

The damned geth lurched from an alleyway, a massive boxy rifle clasped in its hands. It stared at Tali, light flickering.

"Creator Zorah, Creator Nara has turned the colony's defense systems upon us," said the geth, demonstrating a masterful grasp of the obvious. "Alert: all terran systems known to possess link to command center. Recommend retreat to central plaza to infiltrate and manipulate Constant command center."

 _That – I suppose that would work._ Tali was not as familiar with the more rudimentary aspects of terran systems as she might have liked; her own work with the Umojans had mostly revolved around cultural exchange and working with particle physicists on improving omnitools and tech armor. _Never stopped to ask them about their command centers._

"Follow me," snapped Tali, grabbing the handle of her shotgun and letting it unfold in her arms in a manner she found disturbingly relieving. _Let's try to shut down these systems before things get any worse._ Gunshots echoed in the distance, and Tali got a glimpse of an automated vessel down the street, tracking them as they rounded another corner. She wasn't sure it was the same one as before.

Tali knew she was getting close as that familiar and horrible sense of dread descended upon her. _What the hell happened here?_ Tali did not have long to fixate on that question, however, as the air filled with roaring engines. An automated vessel flew overhead before rounding on them. Two more missiles shot out of its chassis and hovered.

"Scatter!" called out Tali, diving away from the geth and running full pelt in the opposite direction and back round the corner she had just come. The geth easily kept pace.

"Creator Zorah, this weapon was designed to pierce heavy armor," said the geth, lifting its massive gun slightly. Tali ignored it for the moment, peering behind the corner just in time to see the two missiles fall to the ground, having lost the trajectory. The vessel, undeterred, shot out another pair of turrets and began to elevate itself and move in their direction. "Creator Zorah, if you can distract the vessel, we can cripple it with a well-placed round."

Tali, quite aware that her main armament consisted of a shotgun and an omnitool, was not opposed to those idea in principle. In execution, however, should would be staring down an AI or VI or whatever that had been instructed by a paranoid lunatic to kill her. _Bosh'tet! Reegar would have agreed already!_ She gave the geth a nod and stood in the middle of the street, omnitool prepped. She did not have to wait long.

The vessel lowered itself before her, hovering about fifteen feet over her head. The front of the chassis, the "eye" that opened only to deploy more irritating toys, seemed to meet with hers. She raised her omnitool and flicked it once. Flames burst in front of the chassis, scorching the metal and causing sparks to fly. Parts of the machine seemed to sag and bubble, but the vessel did not have any difficulty responding. The eye opened-

Tali had never heard Legion's gun report before. It went off with a deafening _boom_ , louder than even Reegar's launcher. The chassis sparked and then vanished in a wave of red and orange – Tali guessed the geth had shot it directly in the missile it was about to load.

Tali backed up as quickly as she could, feet padding against the concrete as the vessel's metal twisted, deformed, and sagged. When it lost altitude, however, it was still a slow process; whatever intelligence that governed the machine was still fighting to survive and stop them. It was only when it finally crashed in a hellish storm of fire and shrieking steel that the bosh'tet machine went still.

"Good shot," said Tali, not feeling anything beyond a slight sense of relief. _The number of murderous machine intelligences that I have to put up with just went down by one._ More pops in the distance indicated that this number was still nowhere high enough for Tali's liking. Saying nothing else, they continued on back towards the command center.

"Zeratul vanished the moment that first ship arrived," said Tali. "I hope he's alright."

"Zeratul-Prelate survived Char, Thessia, and the Protoss Civil War," said the geth. "No programs dissent: Zeratul-Prelate lives, and likely knows where we are."

Dread filled Tali again, making her wonder if her reaction was a pathological response, or that perhaps all beings were psionic to some degree. She tried to ignore the further chatter of gunfire in the distance, particularly as she realized it was most likely Reegar that they were shooting at. _He's been through worse._

Tali entered the command center first, almost tripping over the vast numbers of casings coating the entrance on the way in. Her shotgun trained on every dancing shadow, she checked each room and found nothing. _Empty. Good._ The geth followed briefly before setting on its own course – straight for the main console and adjutant. _No, that's mine. I can hack anything._ Tali followed, trying to ignore the way the debris was scattered everywhere. It looked like there had been a panic. A brief one.

"We will brute force this adjutant," said the geth, its own omnitool appearing on its metallic wrist. "Firewalls will be overridden. Creator Zorah, you will need to perform the manual override. Suggest deactivating all available systems for sake of mission completion and eventual colonial reclamation."

"Right," said Tali, tapping the keys on the haptic keyboard before the console. "Do it."

The adjutant briefly stirred to life before fading again with a cry distorted by heavy static. Tali logged in without difficulty, only to find that the console had access to the command center's flight capabilities and that was about it.

"It's not linked to anything!" said Tali, slamming a fist against the side of the console. "Dammit, Veetor!" She checked the history and found that nearly everything had been downloaded and then deleted. _Veetor. What the hell has the poor thing seen to make him do this?_ Tali turned off the console and stepped away. The geth looked back at her and cocked its head.

"Conclusion of hostilities should preferably be swift," said the geth. "Creator Zorah, we should locate Creator Veetor and convince him of our benign intentions."

"That might be difficult with you around," said Tali, not actually meaning offense this time. "I mean – we all have lost friends to the geth. Without Zeratul, I'm not sure how to go about this."

"Creator Veetor has been constructing missile turrets with great obsession," said the geth. "Following the line of them should-" The geth stopped. "Audio sensors picking up large disturbance. Creator Zorah, we suspect we should have asked a relevant question earlier. _How_ has Creator Veetor been constructing missile turrets?"

"What?" Tali paled underneath her suit. "Oh. Oh keelah." They ran, together, their feet pounding the metal of the command center in a great racket. They emerged, one of them blinking, into the sunlight. Before them was the answer to their question.

Hulking and enormous at about twenty feet of solid steel, the SCV was scooting about the plaza, its engines whining and its drill buzzing. Inside her suit, Tali felt her teeth vibrate with the noise. Slowly, the SCV turned, its pilot apparently having noticed them. Over the din, Veetor issued a sharp crackle.

"You came back!" he said, and if it wasn't for the fearful tone in his voice, Tali would have rejoiced. "No! No closer! Not again. Never again! Did you come back for me? In the ship? WHY DIDN'T YOU HELP US?!"

The SCV began to creep forward slowly in their direction, the massive drill pointed in their direction. Tali swore under her breath, and then over it.

"Legion, we can't hurt him!" she said. "We need to find some way to either get him to calm down or disable the SCV." She waved her hands at the cockpit, still backing away slowly all the while. "Veetor! Veetor'Nara nar Halfax! It's me, Tali'zorah! Do you remember? I was at your Exodus Ceremony!" If anything, the SCV only seemed to pick up in speed at that. _Keelah._

"Don't aim for the cockpit!" yelled Tali, firing her shotgun afterward before promptly sprinting off for the side. The whining grew louder; it seemed she was Veetor's first target. She fired another incineration blast from her omnitool, cursing herself as she forgot to look back and aim away from the cockpit. Tali dived over a small stone wall and took cover behind the strange statue that dominated the plaza. Veetor had turned away from her and focused on the geth, who had summoned a drone and ducked back into the command center. Veetor advanced on the building and began to drill, sparks flying from the entrance as he widened it. _Madness._ Just as Tali caught her breath and the drone began to zap the out-of-control machine, a dull roar from overhead announced yet further problems.

Two automated craft descended from the heavens and promptly plonked down a pair of turrets each. Tali ducked behind the statue as heavy slugs ripped through the legs of the monument, showering the ground around her with hot shrapnel as she cursed to herself.

"Go get 'em Chikita," said Tali, tapping her omnitool to summon the little purple drone. "Go! Go!" The drone vanished in the direction of one of the slug throwers, and the fire suddenly stopped as they acquired their new target. Then Tali's suit pinged twice, acknowledging the fresh set of missile locks.

"Ah." Tali ran, but knew it was not fast enough, knew she couldn't make it into the command center because of stupid Veetor, knew her barriers wouldn't hold-

A sudden blast of heat and sound hit Tali's back, pushing her forward and making her stumble. She turned and saw a great fireball where one of the vessels and all of the auto turrets had been. Striding through the flames, looking as unperturbed as ever, was Kal'Reegar, brandishing a smoking rocket launcher. He fired it again, and the missile lock lifted as the second vessel shifted, inadvertently knocking its missile out of the sky.

"Is Veetor in that SCV?!" yelled Reegar over the cacophony, ducking behind the now shredded statue Tali had just left behind. "Shit. Zeratul, how we get him out of that?"

Zeratul appeared in a haze of smoke beside Reegar, a finger extended towards the vessel. The vessel, tilting sideways and focusing on the new pair of hostiles, suddenly froze, its chassis enveloped in scintillating purple light. When Reegar fired upon it, there was no reaction from it beyond noisy destruction.

Veetor, paranoid and delusional but not deaf, turned his SCV around at this commotion. What he must have thought, to be confronted by another two "hostiles," one a protoss and the other a quarian carrying a rocket launcher, Tali had no idea but could not feel any pity at this stage. Legion's drone still danced over the hull, burning through patches of it and leaving scorched metal in its wake.

"No! No more of you! No!" Veetor was babbling continually to himself now. "Protoss? Why? Are you with them?" Veetor advanced again, drill whirring, part menacing but mostly pathetic. "No more monsters."

From the now badly damaged command center came a familiar deafening _boom._ Tali's natural immediate instinct was fear and rage that the geth could open fire on Veetor with a weapon of that caliber, but it was quickly followed by relief. The drill stopped. Veetor stopped. The whirr of the SCV died down to a dull thrum. And Tali, Tali tapped her omnitool and shot a cryo blast at the cockpit.

The composite froze over quickly, its surface becoming brittle. Tali, more tired and scared for the wellbeing of herself and her friends than Veetor at this stage, produced her pistol and fired a single round at the cockpit.

When it shattered, Tali was almost surprised at how unceremonious it was. It simply fell away, revealing the huddled form of Veetor underneath, looking at the very least physically unharmed.

"Unknown organism?" he said, looking down at all of them and then at the console before him. "Unknown organism. No. Not unknown. Oh. Oh no. Protoss and geth and and… quarian. Oh. I'm so sorry." Veetor half slid, half simply dropped from the smoking remnants of his SCV, landing in an awkward heap. He stood quickly, limping towards the three of them while the geth emerged from the twisted entrance of the command center.

"Terran database incomplete," he said, sounding partially sheepish, but mostly feverish and exhausted. "Taught them to recognize protoss profiles. Terran. Elcor. Turian. Not quarian. Didn't think to." He shivered. "Suit disrupts sensors. Did you come for me?" He sunk to his knees. "I activated the beacon. I didn't think… I didn't think anyone would come."

"Veetor… of course we'd come," said Tali, the fear and anger disappearing in the face of Veetor's utter misery and confusion. She sunk to his level, taking a hold of his hands. "You're safe now. We're bringing you home."

"Home?" Veetor's eyes blinked under the visor. "But… I'm not done. I needed… I needed to bring something back."

"That'll do," said Reegar bluntly, nodding toward the steaming wreck of the SCV. "It's still got most of its parts. 'Bout time we got our hands on one of those, anyway. Think of the repairs we could get done with a few of those things!"

"Would that count?" asked Veetor before shuddering once. "Oh. I am so, so sorry. I- I haven't slept. I couldn't. Did you see them?"

"Let's get you back to the ship, and then we can talk," said Tali, before turning to Zeratul. "Is he making any more sense in his head, Zeratul?"

"No," said Zeratul gently, reaching forward and lightly placing his palm on Veetor's visor. The young quarian went limp immediately, his hands slackening in Tali's grasp. "I think it is time he slept… and time we leave." He gestured toward the SCV. "I will pick that up on the way out. Follow."

Carrying Veetor between them, Tali and Reegar followed Zeratul through the deserted winding streets, shadowed all the while by the now silent geth. When they reached the Star Relic, Tali found the bizarre ship more comforting than she ever had before, practically falling on her knees at the sight of it.

They placed Veetor carefully on the softest bit of cargo they could find before taking ahold of his omnitool. Tali carefully copied everything from the last week on to her own before meeting the rest of her team on the bridge. Zeratul began take off as she sat down. There was an unfamiliar thunk about halfway up.

"We are now housing an SCV," said Zeratul before rounding on Tali. "And you have in your possession data I think will answer any lingering questions running through our minds."

It took them about an hour and a half to see it all. The first two days seemed normal; Veetor had apparently been working with ITSA engineers on repurposing the automated NOMAD workhorse vessels (the damned ships that had caused them so much trouble) into impromptu military drones. By the sound of it, Veetor had used his own knowledge of omnitools and particle science to weaponized the internal nanite systems into producing disgustingly potent explosives and point defense systems. _Keelah… once you strip away the neuroses and madness, he's a damned genius._

Past that, things, for lack of a better term, went to utter hell. They received reports of the other colonies coming under attack and tried to hire a mercenary force to stop the invaders that they suspected were coming. The mercs didn't arrive on time… and would not have been able to help anyway.

"Khas naradahk!" swore Zeratul as a massive hive-like ship appeared on the dark horizon. As Eden Prime flooded and gunshots lit the night, Veetor hid in a bunker on the outskirts and recorded it all, muttering half-coherent prayers to himself the entire time.

The invaders sent out some kind of homing insect in the initial stages, one that froze anyone not wearing a suit. _Means all quarians are exempt I suppose._ Made Tali, for once, quite happy to be living in a suit perpetually. What did not make Tali happy, however, were the glimpses of the "monsters" Veetor had mentioned.

Hulking, insectoid, and bearing power armor to match the terran's, the invaders were unlike anything Tali had ever seen before. Checking in with Zeratul and the geth, it quickly became clear that no one knew what the hell they were.

"More Koprulu aliens?" suggested Reegar, but Zeratul irritably shook his head.

"We would know if they had traveled from the Koprulu Sector, young Reegar," said Zeratul. "Those creatures… I have never seen their like before." His hands clenched and unclenched. "But by Adun, if I have my way I will see one in person, and I will plunder every last thought from its vile mind. A sickening harvest." He pointed a long finger towards the glistening display projected from Tali's wrist, to the storage devices they put the terrans in.

Tali let the recording play on, and felt sickened at doing so. The gunshots in the distance began to die as the storm raged on and resistance thinned. Then, just as hope seemed lost, floodlights shone overhead. Veetor gasped and looked up, his prayers dying on his hidden lips. There, floating high, was salvation. A terran battlecruiser, surveying the besieged city and doubtless about to take action. Tali held her breath, wondering if the battlecruiser, too, was abducted, for she saw no sign of it at the colony. What happened instead, drove even Reegar into a choking rage.

The battlecruiser held in place for several minutes, floodlights scanning. The aliens below stared back up at it, evidently as surprised as the hidden Veetor was, all wondering what action the terrans would take. Instead, a short while after arriving, the floodlights turned off with a clunk, and the battlecruiser pushed its way back into the heavens, leaving Veetor a gibbering wreck while the invaders likely did their best imitation of a mental shrug and continued their grisly harvest. They finished not soon after. The next few days were simple madness as Veetor fortified the colony against further attack, automating as many systems as possible. They saw no need to see any more.

"Rewind to the terrans," said Zeratul, voice clipped. Tali did so, trying to remember to breathe. She held over the image of the battlecruiser leaving, flying directly over the bunker.

"That is not any battlecruiser that I recognize," said Zeratul, eyes glinting. "This one is new."

"New?" Reegar sounded skeptical. "Them terrans know how to improve on and modify their designs, but all the cruisers I've seen have been based off that familiar hammerhead shape. So is this one. What makes it different?"

"Size," said Zeratul. "Shape of the engines. Armament. Things only a trained eye would see." He shook his head. "Adun, Razagal… Tassadar… save us. Something has gone very wrong, and we are not the people to decide what to do with this information."

"We are aware that the protoss and geth delegations should arrive at the Citadel shorty," said the geth, which had been mercifully quiet during the recordings. "Prelate-Zeratul, Eden Prime is a Council world. We have video evidence of an unprovoked attack. We should show this to them."

"And even if they don't take action, you can bet the Consensus and the protoss will," said Reegar, chuckling. Tali shot him a dark look from under her helmet, but Reegar only shrugged, as if to say, "What? I'm only telling the truth."

Tali looked back to the display, hunting for the differences in the battlecruiser. For the life of her, she could not truthfully state she could see them. Furthermore, she had no idea who the hell they could be. _Couldn't be Dominion. They don't leave the Sector if they can help it. Umojan? No, Umojan cruisers can't be spared out of their space, they have a small enough fleet as it is. ITSA? If it was ITSA, why didn't it help anyone? KMC? That's the only one I can think of. Maybe stopped in for a pirate raid and got scared off._

Whoever the ship belonged to, it was clear to Tali that they meant the people below no good will. And, if she had her way, she would see that colony avenged one way or another. _The terrans and bug men both. For Veetor. For the innocent lives lost, taken away to who-knows-where to be… enslaved? Experimented on? Eaten?_

"Setting a course for the Citadel," said Zeratul, making Tali's heart leap. _Heh. Always wanted to see it._ "It… has been some time. Then-" Zeratul cast a look back towards the cargo hold where Veetor slept, "home."

The Star Relic slunk through the heavens, the mangled SCV rattling within the hull.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Garrus**

 **A/N: We'll get back to Valerian soon enough, never fear.**


	11. Unity Between Our Peoples

**Garrus**

 _I know I'm in a dream._ Garrus could feel the weight of his arms as he looked around at the vivid forest, the swaying leaves bright and steely. _Palaven. I am dreaming of home._

Memories with only hollow substance flooded Garrus's lethargic mind. He remembered walking, half coherent conversations, and some vague yet pressing urgency. Without walking, he appeared before the memorial. _Heh._ Ever since he had been told about controlling one's dreams at the age of eleven, Garrus had maintained a loose yet consistent grip on his wandering thoughts. He remembered this particular dream.

Two rough sketches of loved ones lay before the memorial, honoring the turians in the 37th and 48th Flotillas who had lost their lives chasing the protoss through the Koprulu relay. Garrus had visited it every time had visited Palaven during his career in C-Sec. _As well I should._ To him, it had always seemed a bit unfair that Third Fleet was honored and exalted to such an extent, that Victus and the people under him had been mythologized by the Hierarchy. _We should honor their sacrifice … but they knew what they were doing. They knew the stakes. Those soldiers advanced through the relay without knowing what was on the other side._ Garrus reached out, but the memorial grew no closer. The colors began to darken.

Night fell over Palaven, and Garrus was advancing through the bladed foliage. His lung pushed the air in and out steadily while his heart hammered in his chest. He was being pursued, but he didn't know by what. The shadows leapt and danced as Garrus felt for his holster, mind straining against what he _knew_ in the dream versus what he believed. When he felt the hard butt of the pistol, he sighed in relief and drew it beside his head, barrel pointed towards the distant stars.

There was a jump again. Garrus found himself drawing a bead on a tall and glimmering figure in a clearing. The creature's back was turned to him, and it towered over Garrus in its softly shining armor. Garrus's trigger finger began to squeeze…

The figure vanished, making Garrus relax. _Control. Hold your breath._ Garrus held his breath and found to a mixed sense of vexation and relief that he was still breathing. _Just a dream._ Garrus relaxed, letting the pistol fall to his side. Then, from high above, he heard a high pitched whine.

Lights descended from the heavens, shining like the Spirits of old. They numbered in the dozens, their thin beams dancing in the still darkness, scanning first where the figure had vanished and then slowly outward. _Looking for me._ Garrus drew a deep breath and looked upward, into the skies above.

The protoss battlefleet hung silently above the jungle, their silhouettes obscuring the distant stars. Garrus blinked, and the closest beam of light swiveled, shining upon him.

With a cry, Garrus first shielded his eyes with his wrist, and then raised his pistol, squeezing the trigger again and again. The reports seemed muffled, impotent, but Garrus felt the recoil and watched the way the leaves lit up from the muzzle flash and continued firing. As soon as he wondered why the gun wouldn't overheat, it did, and he dropped the smoking weapon into the grass. Garrus turned slowly, knowing what was about to happen.

The protoss stood before him, looking far broader and muscular at this distance. Its blue eyes flickered once in Garrus's direction. The creature extended its hand before Garrus, the twin thumbs opening before his face, the long talons brushing his crest, hooking on to part of his cheek…

Garrus woke then, his heart settling within his chest as he stared up at the reassuring metal grey of the ceiling. He sighed in relief, turning over in the bed to be greeted with the sight of Sarah Kerrigan in a chair adjacent, a long rifle slung across her back. _She doesn't like going unarmed._

"Had that dream before?" she asked, shifting in the chair, her eyes scanning his face.

"It's never exactly the same," said Garrus, pushing himself up from the bed and shaking his head. "You read Saren's dreams as well? Seems kind of … invasive."

"It is," said Kerrigan, rising. "It's the point. I'll need to train you in some mental techniques … or maybe leave it to Saren. No, he does not allow me to read his thoughts anymore. All Spectres are trained in anti-psionic methods." She made for the door, only to look behind herself on the threshold. "We're here, by the way, and we're just in time. Get dressed and I'll meet you at the docking tube."

 _Never thought I'd see this place again. Well … I never thought I'd leave Omega either, really._ Garrus groaned, the image of that memorial still fresh in his mind. _I forget every dream I've ever had when it's time to wake up … except that one. I really should contact my father when I get a chance._

For the first two days of travel, Garrus had been stuck with only the clothes on his back. It was only when Tela Vasir had loudly complained about the "filthiness of Kerrigan's turian" that Saren had thrust a small armload of clothes into Garrus's slightly embarrassed arms.

"This is for both our sakes," he had said, deadly serious. "Take a shower and burn your clothes. They stink of Omega."

Garrus had been unable to come up with any kind of clever retort, and was frankly quite thankful. The smell had begun to keep him awake at night, but he did not feel he was in any position to ask for help with anything. _This turian is just glad to still be breathing. Glad to be off of Omega._ Garrus realized there was another dream he had begun to remember. _The Warrens. I could have gone without seeing them._

All of Saren's clothing was some shade of dark or black blue, making Garrus suspect that the turian never really saw himself as off duty, even within the confines of a traveling spaceship. Nova acted similarly, wearing only the same powered ghost armor every day. Vasir and Kerrigan, at the very least, had some proper civvies. _Might even have lives outside of what they do._

Having dressed, Garrus made his way to the airlock, noting the hollow way his footsteps rang out in the halls. There was no sign of life or motion anywhere else, making him suspect he and Kerrigan were the last to disembark. Sure enough, the ghost was alone when he met her at the entrance.

"You're definitely cleaner than when I met you," said Kerrigan, sniffing. "You look a bit healthier as well. I don't think Omega was very good for you, Vakarian."

"I definitely wasn't getting as much done as I would have liked," said Garrus, shrugging. "The Citadel felt the same way, though. If anything, it feels better to get stopped by pointed guns than the bureaucracy. At least with the guns, you knew the people holding them cared about what you were trying to do."

"If you say so," said Kerrigan. "Come on. We don't want to miss it."

Garrus followed Kerrigan out the airlock and through the docking tube, trying to keep up even as his legs began to wobble. He'd gotten enough sleep on the trip back, but the fact of the matter was that he'd been dining on mostly cheap and toxic Omega fare for several months, and sparingly at that. _Basically, I am one malnourished turian._

The contrast between the Citadel and Omega was immediately apparent on the other side. The sterile whiteness of the walls and the brightness of the lights was a far cry from the dinge, rust, smoke, and chemical smells of Omega. Looking around, there was no sign of impending violence in some back alley, only the guards at the checkpoint were armed, and there was no sign of vorcha anywhere. _Paradise. Well, until you try to change something._

"What don't we want to miss?" asked Garrus as he joined Kerrigan in the short line to the checkpoint. "Not much _to_ miss on the Citadel. Everyone likes it quiet."

"The geth and protoss are returning," said Kerrigan, causing Garrus's heart to start. "Only learned last night. It's … been a while." Garrus didn't have anything to say, even as Kerrigan looked back at him. _Please … don't read my mind._ He saw the faintest hint of a nod.

 _I didn't want them to come back._ He had been stationed on the Citadel during the Great War, one of many C-Sec officers who had to sit back and watch the galaxy go to hell. Having just exited military service, part of him was glad to not have to fight the zerg … but most of him wanted to get out there and defend the Hierarchy. His father had not been amused.

"We've suffered enough losses already," he had snapped. "We have plenty of soldiers, just not quite enough ships to put them on and ship them out. Will your reenlisting change that?"

So he had stayed on the Citadel, where it was "safe." Then the zerg attacked. Then the geth, their "allies." When the protoss arrived, the smoke was beginning to clear in the Presidium, and Garrus witnessed the first terrans to walk on the Citadel. He didn't get to witness the protoss, their supposed "saviors."

 _Yeah. It's hard to see them like that. I think it's my right not to._ The terrans and salarians he didn't have a problem with. _Most of what the Hierarchy is saying about them is pretty blatant propaganda, and they weren't better or worse than anyone else on Omega._ But the geth, with whom he had exchanged fire on the Spirits-damned Presidium of all places? The protoss, who had killed his sister?

"I hope Saren doesn't try to start anything," said Kerrigan, though Garrus could barely concentrate on her voice. "He never did get over First Contact with the protoss. It's a shame – Thessia would never have ended in victory without them. Plus, I've spoken to a few…"

Garrus flexed and unflexed his fingers, dream still vivid in his memory. Kerrigan looked back at him, frowning.

"I think the galaxy could use their input," said Kerrigan. "This Union-Hierarchy power struggle is a waste of time, and the protoss could put an end to it if they wanted to. And maybe dethrone a few tyrants while they're at it."

"How?" asked Garrus bluntly. "Through force? Blowing up more salarian and turian ships? If they are really that advanced, I don't want them poking through our affairs. It invites judgment from a force we can't resist." _As much as I would love to see them detonate Omega, it just sets an ugly precedent._

They advanced a few more steps in the line. Kerrigan folded her arms.

"Have you ever met a protoss, Vakarian?" asked Kerrigan. "The ones I knew – they would pass judgment, but they sure as hell wouldn't do anything about it. They prefer to match themselves against worthwhile foes. The zerg. Each other." She frowned. "Maybe these "Reapers" that the Hierarchy keeps using to justify everything they do."

"Hierarchy isn't worthwhile, huh?" asked Garrus, making Kerrigan's eyes narrow. "That's good to know. Can't wait to see these guys wandering around the Presidium, critiquing the Krogan Memorial, complaining there's no one around worth fighting…"

"Well I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Spectres don't have to deal with the protoss or geth," said Kerrigan, turning around in a rather stiff fashion. "They're too far removed from the wants and needs of the Council. There's nothing to exchange on either side, and it's too expensive to take anything, either. Maybe you should stay on the ship?"

"No," said Garrus. "I want to see this happen."

To Garrus's surprise, they were passed through the checkpoint with only two words: "Spectre Authority." _Dad would have hated that. He would have had us sign forms in triplicate…_

To Garrus, however, it was refreshing to not have to go through the trying routine of answering questions, presenting the omnitool, and explaining that while he'd just arrived from a soiled hellhole in the middle of the Terminus Systems, he had nothing to declare.

He followed Kerrigan in silence, taking careful note of the mix of aliens he was passing by.

 _No batarians or vorcha, a welcome change. Plenty of salarians and turians – not so much in the way of asari these days. Speaking of which, all the C-Sec officers are either turian or salarian these days._ Garrus had hoped that that particular pissing match might have subsided in his absence. _Seems not._ Both the Union and the Hierarchy were well aware that whoever held the Citadel held most of the power, and had taken pains to make sure as many officers were among their ranks as possible. There were still terrans and asari in the mix, as expected, but the intake was much lower than made sense. _I mean, they started hiring loyalist volus over former asari commandos. Seriously?_

At the very least, their surroundings were peaceful and orderly, if a little heavy on the number of C-Sec officers. _Spirits, how many officers have they put on each beat?_ He followed Kerrigan up a ramp, trying to remember exactly where they were. _Ah. She's taking me up to an observation deck._ Garrus had spent a sizable amount of time on the observation decks during his tenure in C-Sec, watching the vessels drift by. _A shame about the_ Destiny Ascension _._ She had always been his favorite during his first year: stately, massive and graceful. _Hope she took some zerg with her._

They stopped behind a small crowd of people, some of whom had almost pressed themselves against the window. Kerrigan was still able to part the crowd to a certain extent, securing the two of them a place near the edge. _It's as gorgeous as I remembered it._ The great gases still swirled in silent magnificence, and the defense fleet hung in loose formation within the arms, only visible through a complimentary HUD, awaiting the arrival of their guests.

What he didn't like, however, was the fresh presence of a turian dreadnought. _How'd Sparatus bludgeon his way into making_ that _happen?_ The ship's glowing outline on the HUD dwarfed the other cruisers, and Garrus saw no salarian or terran equivalents as he scanned with his omnitool.

"They said they would be here in about ten minutes," said Kerrigan, the outline of her own omnitool appearing on her wrist. "Then, we'll head up to the Tower. Council wants all available Spectres to be available, and it'll give me a chance to let them see the newest recruit. Sound good?"

"Sure," said Garrus, looking behind and noticing a small group of turians and terrans chanting something, occasionally yelling. No less than four C-Sec officers were eyeing them warily. _Protestors._ He backed away from the observation deck and edged himself closer to the small crowd, trying to hear what they were saying.

"Remember the 37th!" called out a turian.

"Mar Sara forever!" screamed a terran.

"Citadel should give 'em hell!" called out another terran. _Ah. Glad to see people haven't forgotten._ He looked back at the crowd gathered by the window. _Probably isn't going to do much good, though._

"I'd like to see them protest to the protoss's faces," said a C-Sec officer to the left of him, a turian with extensive blue facial markings. "I don't think it would end well."

"I think martyrdom is something they'd be fine with," said Garrus, watching the protestors circle slowly. "It would prove them right, after all. Two more would spring up to take their place."

"Then we'd be in trouble," said the officer, chuckling. Garrus suspected he was new – he didn't recognize the voice or face, and no one who had been on the beat for a good while would bother talking to random civilians. He returned to Kerrigan, curiosity sated.

"Protoss always struck me as punctual," said Kerrigan. "Should be here in under a minute. You okay?"

"I'm fine," said Garrus. "Eager to get a move on."

He didn't have to wait long. Garrus heard a sharp intake of breath from the volus on his right, and the feed from the display to his omnitool went crazy. The static made Garrus grit his teeth and look away from the trusty device to the almost meaningless window.

"What … the fuck?" Garrus's mandibles dropped. There, closing the distance all too rapidly, was a hunk of gleaming golden metal, tapered to a point, hurtling towards them. The omnitool stopped fizzing to reveal the slightly distorted outline of a ship … half again the size of the Citadel.

"Was this really necessary?" Kerrigan asked, sounding more exasperated than anything else. "This is just showing off."

"Seventy four kilometers?!" A salarian pounded his wrist in his excitement, making the omnitool flare form the impact. "Check that again. Again! The hell?"

"Would have been nice to have that in orbit over Thessia," said Kerrigan, clicking her tongue. "Looks like they brought a geth complement, too."

Garrus checked his omnitool and found the faint outlines of the geth ships against the frankly enormous hull of the protoss vessel. He looked back at the circle of protestors, all of whom had fallen silent as they stared numbly out the window. He exchanged a meaningful glance with the C-Sec officer.

"I would have thought the protoss would be above this kind of cultural posturing," said Kerrigan, the only person present who had not been shocked into speechlessness. "I mean, what does this really accomplish?" She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Come on, Vakarian, they've probably already sent someone over to the Tower. Protoss move quickly once they've decided to do something."

Garrus's gaze lingered on the omnitool's display for a few more seconds before he shut it off. He followed Kerrigan through the steadily thickening crowd by the windows. The protestors had dispersed while the four C-Sec officers responsible for them were now gathered together, muttering to one another. _That's going to be the whole station soon enough. We certainly don't get to see things like this every day._

A skycar was waiting for them at a transit hub, and Kerrigan naturally got shotgun. The driver, some salarian in a bright yellow outfit, would not shut up about the news feed he had just seen.

"Seventy-four kilometers!" he said. "May as well be the end of inter-Council conflict, from what I can see. It was stupid anyway – we've got plenty of other threats to worry about without being at each other's throats all the time. Am I right?"

That last question was directed at Garrus, who twitched his mandibles. _I hate being the "turian opinion."_

"I don't think the protoss are here to solve all of our problems," said Kerrigan. "In fact, I think they're about to complicate things a lot more. If they came here, it means they probably want something. They're not going to start handing over technology, weapons, and the secret to life, the universe, and everything."

"Too grounded," said the salarian, amused. "Have you seen what these guys can do? It's like magic! Things are about to change for sure."

Garrus snorted at this, but no one noticed. _Wonder what Saren makes of this?_ It was with a start that he remembered that Saren had been part of the 37th. _He might have known Solana._ It made him feel strange for a moment. _He treated me with such distance, but we share some slight history … perhaps he could tell me how to overcome these prejudices? Perhaps he can banish that damned recurring nightmare…_

They disembarked without any further chatter from the salarian, the Tower looming before them. Those same two words from before let them in without any upset, and they began the climb up the steps. Garrus could not help but note that four guards were posted at every landing now; two on either side. He also could not help but note that each of them consisted of a turian, a salarian, a terran, and an asari. _Trying to up the security but maintain some semblance of unity, even with the asari off the Council. Things really have changed in the last few months._

A volus attendant waved the two of them over on the third landing, pointing up a set of steps. After a short climb, Garrus found himself in one of the Tower balconies, trying to peer over an asari's shoulder to the floor below.

There they stood. Garrus's heart pounded dully as he recognized the silhouette, how the armor did indeed gleam as it had in his dream. _There they are. Solana never got to see them, but I did._

"I recognize no one in your entourage, my good ambassadors," said the terran councilor, Udina. _I remember the day he got here. He's so much smaller outside his armor._ "Still, the Council bids you welcome to the Citadel. It has been a long time since we housed protoss guests." _Seems like we're right on time._

"We greet you, people of the Citadel," said the protoss furthest from Garrus, a somewhat hunched figure bearing a thick dark cloak and no armor. _So. The protoss do have women._ This drew a look from Kerrigan. "I am Matriarch Razagal of the Nerazim, that which you know as Dark Templar. With me stands the geth program, designated "Prophet," and Aldaris of the High Templar."

"Councilors, at long last I behold your center of power," said Aldaris. "I find it most impressive. Before me I see a wide array of peoples, united by a common purpose. Be proud of your accomplishments."

 _Seems like empty talk to me. They showed up in a ship larger than the Citadel._

"We are Prophet," said the geth, the figure closest to Garrus and barely visible past the lip of the balcony. "We regret the closure of our borders and embassy. We wish to reestablish contact with organic races."

"So too, do we wish to reset our past relationships," said Aldaris. "I sense much resentment and fear in this chamber, and I am afraid I must call it well-justified. Fear me not, peoples of the Citadel. Six years ago, you witnessed the face of our warrior caste, the Templar, short-tempered and bold. I am a Judicator, one who facilitates peace." _A protoss politician. I wish they'd sent more soldiers instead. This is the last thing we need._ The Judicator wore a resplendent set of golden armor, topped with a simple circlet. His own frame was broader than Razagal's, though he stood only a little taller.

"I am sorry to say that many of us have not forgotten some of the unfortunate missteps made during the Great War," said Sparatus, his voice stern. "Many turians lost friends and loved ones to the "boldness" of your warriors, and many more races suffered as the zerg spread unchecked. Your hasty exit following the war's end and prolonged absence during the rebuilding has not inspired much confidence. And bear in mind: I say this in full knowledge of that enormous ship hanging outside the Citadel. You are advanced, very well. We accept this. But if you seek to approach us as equals, you must fulfill the same basic expectations. Where did you go? Why are you here?"

There was widespread muttering at this, but Garrus could not help but feel no small amount of respect for Sparatus, who glowered down at the two protoss and geth as if they were misbehaving cadets.

"We do not answer to you," said Aldaris stiffly, "and the affairs of the Firstborn are of little concern of yours. The past is done. We need look to the future, for that future is dark. The geth have opened their databanks to us and revealed the existence of the Reapers. It is time for all sapient life to unite."

"Good fucking luck with that," whispered Kerrigan as murmurs filled the chambers. The salarian councilor, Hiron glowered down at the protoss.

"The galaxy will not bind its own wounds if you simply command it, Aldaris," said Hiron, her voice gravelly and tired. "Have you kept watch on us, the "lesser races?" We are besieged on all sides by mistrust, misplaced ambition, and fear. The terrans war amongst themselves ceaselessly, the zerg still rampage across the Athena Nebula, and even with this Council there is a lingering, festering sense of inevitable conflict looming before us. What solution do you propose?"

"We will present to you incontrovertible evidence of the threat on the horizon," said Razagal, stepping forward and planting her cane firmly on the ground in front of her. "We will lend all the aid we are able to worlds still ravaged by the woes of the last war. We would serve on your Council, and dispense aid and wisdom freely. In return, all we ask is that you stand with us against the darkness."

"Excuse me," said a turian behind Garrus. He let him aside without thinking, focusing his attention on the Councilor's reactions.

"Reapers," said Udina, sounding exhausted. He looked to Sparatus. "How long have we talked about them? We have seen the geth's data, Matriarch, and it is genuine. But it has been six years. In that time, all the Reapers have proven to be is an excuse for certain disingenuous parties to arm themselves to the teeth." Sparatus's mandibles fluttered.

"You have done well to arm yourselves so," said Razagal, again to the murmuring of much of the audience. "We will require every ship, every soldier. A terror waits outside the galaxy, and though we know not when they will finally descend upon us, we must be ready nonetheless."

There was some kind of muffled commotion going on at the foot of the Tower. Garrus heard a strangled shout and turned to look down the steps, but could not see past the glowing form of a hanar. Another turian shoved past him, this one far less polite. Garrus turned to admonish him, and noticed something odd. _Barefaced. Both of them. That's rare._ Even politicians were usually loath to go that far. The two of them stood side by side, and quickly exchanged a meaningful glance.

The commotion was growing louder, and Garrus had lost track of the Council's conversation. A shiver went down his back as he began to feel that most vexing of sensations – lingering and probably unfounded suspicion. He checked the balcony across from them. _More bareface._

"Kerrigan," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He pointed at the two turians. "Them. What are they thinking?"

"They're shielded," said Kerrigan impatiently, shaking her head and refusing to turn away from the proceedings. "Most politicians have training these days. If I push any harder, they'll get brain damage. It doesn't matter."

 _Does she not notice?_ Garrus suspected that the ghost may have come to too greatly rely on her powers in Citadel space. _Or, more likely, I am just a paranoid ex-cop who has spent too much time in his life looking over his shoulder._

An aide had rushed to the top of the stairs. He shouted something, but it was indistinct and immediately cut off by the appearance of a shadowy figure from behind him. _More protoss?_

"Judicator Aldaris!" the protoss shouted, actually vocalizing. "We have-"

To Garrus, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The turians produced small metal items from their articles of clothing, their posture stiffening as their arms locked out. Flashes of metal could be seen across the other balconies, and Garrus realized with a lurch just what was happening. He had often morbidly fantasized about doing what he did next, wondering what kind of reaction it would draw.

"GUN!"

As Garrus had fantasized, people immediately started screaming and ducking. As Garrus had feared, the screams were drowned out by the swift reports of the attacker's weapons. Garrus charged while everyone else fell back, his omnitool flaring. The first attacker turned just as he closed the distance.

Garrus's blazing omnitool struck the attacker full in the face, colliding with a horrible crunch and the smell of burned turian. The attacker cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, gun falling from his hand. Garrus grunted and swung again, hitting even harder and propelling his foe over the balcony lip. He fell with a strangled scream.

The other attacker ceased firing and turned, barrel training for Garrus – before letting out a gurgle as blue blood gushed from his neck. Kerrigan pulled the knife out with a soft pop and jammed it in and out over and over, her face contorted in a rictus of rage as the turian collapsed in a spreading pool of blood. Garrus fumbled for the other attacker's fallen weapon, and found it. _Strange._ It looked like a hybrid of black and yellow metal, and Garrus swore he could see teeth of some kind in the barrel. It didn't matter, though. Looking down from the balcony, it was to find the protoss and Councilors gone, and C-Sec officers exchanging fire with yet more adversaries. As Garrus looked up, the other assailants retreated back down the steps, likely to flank them.

"Saren!" Kerrigan screamed into her ear piece, hands covered in blood. "Saren! Is the Council secure?" Garrus was not privy to the response, taking the time to instead check the weapon. _It's fully cooled off. Good._ "What do you mean you don't know where Vasir is?!"

"More bad news?" Garrus asked, suddenly feeling much more at home in the Citadel, horrible as that was. _Nothing more comfortable than a battlefield … easy enough to know my place on one._ Even without barriers or armor, Garrus felt himself relaxing as his body pumped stimulants through his muscles. _Now, only one thing matters. Let's show them why I'm a Spectre candidate._ It had been a while since Garrus had felt confident like this.

"Council is secure, protoss are everywhere, and Vasir is nowhere to be seen," hissed Kerrigan, unslinging her rifle. "You've armed yourself, nice work. Take this and cover me, I'm going to do some damage." A loud bang echoed through the Tower, making Kerrigan wince. "Some of them have strapped explosives to themselves. What the hell do they think they're doing – have they seen that ship outside?!"

Garrus grabbed the rifle eagerly, securing it against his shoulder as best he could, given the ergonomics. He planted the barrel atop the now horribly bloody balcony and looked down the sight, trying to figure out which targets were the hostiles. _Fortunately, I know what C-Sec officers look like._ The rifle thudded against his shoulder, and Garrus felt _satisfaction._ Another turian went down in a hail of knives, screams turning into gurgles as Kerrigan's blades punched through the throat. He sighted another, the crosshairs quivering over the fringe. _Bang._

The C-Sec officers advanced, their shouts echoing horribly in the din. The assailants, the element of surprise lost, retreated under the combined hail of gunfire, expert marksmanship, and angry knives of the defenders. Some tried to climb the stairs to Garrus's balcony. Garrus noticed, dropped the rifle and grabbed the small arm, and waited at the top. There was barely any recoil; he let off a few sharp bursts and watched their bodies let out puffs of cobalt, and that was that.

Others fell against the Council's raised platform, ducking behind nearby plants and pillars as the C-Sec officers commanded them to surrender. Garrus took up the rifle again, uncertain as to how many shots it possessed but unwilling to let that deter him. He took aim…

The shouts turned to screams, the kind of screams someone made as they died painfully and while in great fear. Garrus, feeling the chill in his spine, wheeled his gun about and fixed his scope on the now dying forms of three C-Sec officers, smoking holes in their chests, gun arms lying several feet away. _What?_ Garrus watched a terran stop, shuddering as she was lifted by some unseen force before falling still … skewered from behind. _No. NO._

Garrus fired at where he thought the force was, and the round disappeared in a flare of blue. The terran's body dropped. _They're coming for me._ Garrus turned, set his rifle on the floor, and tapped his omnitool with all the speed he could muster before pointing it at the threshold of the entrance from the stairs. A small mine plonked out.

 _Come on ..._ Garrus waited, training his new weapon at the entrance. He thought he heard muffled laughter as he desperately focused on his fear … rather than the mine. It popped and he heard a grunt. _Eat it!_

The weapon bounced crazily in his hand, its rate of fire far higher than Garrus was used to. _Must be some kind of SMG._ There was no sound of ricochet, nor was there the dull sound of flesh being punctured until the very last second, as the weapon let out a loud beep and a lot of steam. The smoke cleared, and Garrus saw the blood trail. _Kerrigan, I'm following! And be careful – these guys have full-spectrum cloaking!_

Garrus hoped the telepath could hear him as he followed the trail of dull purple fluid down the stairs … and down again. _Shit. This guy's fast._ Garrus ran full-pelt after the trail, barely controlling his descent down the Tower. Cowering civilians shrieked at him as he careened by, but no one dared stop him. In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard.

The blood trail led toward the same transit hub that Garrus and Kerrigan had arrived in, and Garrus saw a stranded car buckle as _something_ leapt atop of it, spattering the windshield with purple blood. The volus managing the hub let out a frenzied scream as he pointed, only to be ripped away by some force at such speed that Garrus almost didn't realize what had happened. _Crap. Psionics!_ The volus's scream faded as he fell over the edge and towards the Presidium waters below, his cry terminating rather suddenly. Garrus still followed, hoping against hope that he had wounded this unseen bastard to the degree that a chase would weaken him. He still elected to stay as close to the wall and as far from the Presidium edge as he could.

Garrus clambered atop the same destroyed car and mantled the ledge, fingers slipping against the purple blood that only seemed to become more and more frequent as the pursuit went on. He followed the trail as quickly as he dared, trying to ignore how the ledge narrowed. _These paths were only made for keepers … and they never trip._ Garrus's anger began to fade in favor of _fear._ He tried not to look at the waters below, focusing instead on the C-Sec skycars descending from every direction. _Get the Tower secure, guys. Get the people out._

Garrus edged along the ledge, and all the while the purple blood turned from a trail to follow to something to not slip in. The wind whipped by, and Garrus struggled to bleed. As he rounded a corner, it was to come face to face with a veritable puddle of the purple substance. _Heh. Must have got him pretty good._ This did little to reassure Garrus, whose experience in dealing with invisible foes was limited at best. He advanced slowly, his boots sticking slightly against the purple.

The next corner he rounded mercifully revealed that the ledge dipped back into a Presidium platform, this time into some kind of high end restaurant. Said restaurant was now filled with screaming customers and covered in blood, but to Garrus that was just reassuring. He dropped from the ledge and heard a leg pop, but there was no pain. He followed, screaming if anyone had seen where the thing had gone. One white-faced terran in a floral dress pointed towards the kitchens.

Garrus pushed the doors open with great force, slamming them against the walls. His probable SMG pointed before him, he checked the floors and found them covered in what was now a solid trail of purple. _Can't lose too much more blood, friend._ The pace had slowed. The chase was about to end. The trail led to the refrigerator section and Garrus entered it slowly, weapon at the ready.

Naturally, the place was freezing. And naturally, there was no exit beyond the one he had just used. He scanned the surroundings, noting the hanging carcasses of varren. _Probably best to throw those out, now._ Garrus checked for any steaming puffs of air, any sign of life. _Nothing. But I can see where the blood is dripping from…_ Garrus readied his weapon – and the protoss materialized, staring at him.

"Ah!" The protoss's palm faced him, and Garrus found himself paralyzed as his mind filled with a sudden buzzing. The image of the memorial flashed over and over again.

"A Spectre?" The protoss sounded surprised. It, too, vocalized. Garrus wondered if it was the same one as before. It wore no armor, like Razagal, choosing only a simple cloak, and a shroud to cover the face. With a soft sound, a long green blade lit up from its right arm. Its left was busy cradling the several large holes in the protoss's side. "No. Soon to be one." The creature stepped forward while Garrus drowned in horrible recollections of the fights with his father, the endless news reports confirming FIRST CONTACT FIRST CONTACT – 37th AND 48th FLOTILLA DESTROYED. The protoss's long fingers quivered. It stopped before him.

"Look to your sins, Spectre," hissed the protoss, voice shaking with effort and rage. It pulled the arm back, blade ready to strike…

The doors burst open from behind, and someone _shouted._ Garrus was thrown back by some unseen force, his body colliding with a frozen varren with a meaty thud. He fell to the floor and rolled, trying to reorient himself. When he stood, it was to find a new protoss figure at the door.

"You!" he bellowed, enormous and resplendent, golden armor shining in the darkness. Twin blades lit from his wrists and he charged Garrus's wounded assailant. The three glowing blades danced in the frozen darkness, and Garrus was not about to hesitate. _I know whose side I'm taking._ Shivering with a mix of fear and rage, Garrus tapped his omnitool and took careful aim at the shadow protoss. _You've got shields, right? Not anymore._

The overload filled the air with static, and the dark protoss staggered as his barriers (or whatever they were called) collapsed. The other protoss capitalized immediately, his blades swinging in a deadly arc. Blade parted flesh, and the dark protoss shuddered before simply … vanishing into smoke. _A good a way to die as any._ Garrus stood there, panting as the bigger protoss just stared at the spot his foe had vanished from. He looked to Garrus.

"Despair not at the lapse in your courage, brave turian," said the protoss, almost making Garrus cock his head. "These Dark Templar are well-versed in the powers of the Void, at inflicting the kind of terror you cannot imagine. Your assistance was appreciated."

"You one of the good ones?" asked Garrus, resisting the urge to spit.

"Are you?" the protoss retorted, striding before Garrus and effortlessly towering over the turian. "I was summoned for turians had attacked our delegation. I was told not to retaliate, for they were likely outside the Council's control." The protoss gestured towards the final patch of purple. "I know not who that was. If they retaliated, it was not with the Matriarch's blessing."

"So much for a message of unity," said Garrus dryly. He still nodded at the protoss. "… thank you."

"It was nothing more than my duty," boomed the protoss. "A Praetor is sworn to defend his charges, and as of now, this Citadel is under my charge. Come, brave turian. We have superiors to answer to."

He followed the protoss, but not before snagging his weapon from the icy ground. He emerged from the fridge, shaking from shock and exertion. C-Sec was already rounding people up for questioning, and were quick to lead Garrus to a waiting skycar. The Praetor, meanwhile, had begun to climb up the ledge and head back the way he came. _Madness._

Still, when he arrived back at the Tower, covered in protoss blood, he was unsurprised to see the Praetor had got there first.

The transit hub was being converted into a makeshift medical area, and Garrus felt a surge of nausea at the number of people being laid on gurneys with missing limbs. Despite himself, he could not help but notice an absence of protoss bodies. _Idiot, they vanish upon death … apparently._

"There he is!" cried the Praetor, using telepathy rather than vocalization. "This turian can corroborate my story! He tracked one of the foul perpetrators to its nest and cornered it!" _Hardly a nest. Wait … one of them?_

The Councilors gathered before the Praetor all looked at him, their eyes tired.

"This was not how I wanted this to go," said Udina, palming his face. "I remember your face, Vakarian. You have much to apologize for. Why did you come back?"

Garrus opened his mouth and shut it. _Huh. Guess the Council did hear about what I did._ Kerrigan had emerged from the Tower sporting a bloody lip. She frowned in confusion at Garrus, who tried his best to focus on the matter at hand, rather than what he had done in his final hours at C-Sec.

"Not the right time, Councilor," said Garrus, voice hoarse. "It was a Dark Templar. The Praetor killed it."

"The protoss did not authorize this retaliation!" cried a voice from behind Garrus. The Judicator, Aldaris, limped towards the Councilors, supported by, of all things, an asari with garish facial markings. "We … knew better … expected as much."

"You expected suicide bombers and rogue gunmen?" asked Hiron, incredulous. "Do you truly think so little of us?"

"Given what I have seen, can you fault me?" spat back Aldaris. "It seems neither of us can control our peoples. Where is the Matriarch?!"

"Right here, Judicator," came the low and oddly smoothing voice of Razagal. She emerged from the tower, flanked by one of her shadowy warriors. _Just like the one the Praetor killed._ Garrus tried to resist the urge to reach for his holster once more. "Praetor Fenix, I need your mind. I need to see the face of one who betrayed me."

"Of course, Matriarch," said Fenix, marching up the steps to Razagal and bowing before her. She planted a hand on his head. Both of their eyes shut.

"He was of the Lenassa tribe," said Razagal, much to Garrus's bewilderment. "Tedrikar. One of our many pilgrims wandering the stars. Tedrikar, what did you find out there?"

"This "Tedrikar" was not alone," said Sparatus, voice shaking. "He was merely the one assigned to the Tower. Can you hear the screams, the sirens? He was one of several." Garrus listened, and he could indeed hear both. _Spirits … what is happening?_

"And what of these rogue turians, Councilor?" asked Hiron, not missing the chance to both bring up a valid point and shame her rival. "As I recall, they attacked first."

"I dug around in their heads," said Kerrigan, descending the stairs. She produced a small and bloody metal device and flung it at their feet. "They all had implanted psi-screens." She nodded to Garrus. "Nice spot. Wish I'd paid you more mind."

"So what does that mean?" asked Sparatus, making Udina shake his head.

"It means that this is no mere band of disgruntled Great War veterans whining about the 37th Flotilla," said Udina, making Garrus's vision turn slightly red. "You don't just "buy" or "find" psi-screens. You are more likely to get your hands on a nuke than one of those. This was properly funded. These turians are martyrs, but I do not know for what cause. And I certainly don't know what this makes the supposedly rogue Dark Templar…"

"There is nothing "supposedly" about those Nerazim," said Razagal, this time angry. "They attacked civilians. Their conduct was monstrous, unforgivable. I cannot and will not condone their actions. Praetor, make certain each are hunted down!"

"I must check with the Executor," said Fenix nervously. "But I shall begin a perimeter sweep. I will not rest until the Citadel is quiet once more!"

"But … we can all agree that neither party bears the other any ill intention," said Aldaris, sounding strained. "This was planned by … someone else. Possibly two separate parties. I saw one turian assailant skewered by a rogue Nerazim."

"We want the protoss on our side," said Hiron. "That will not change – we need your help. I just … I don't know what we are going to do about those circling vultures that like to call themselves "journalists." I quickly became sick of justifying an audience with the protoss, I shudder to think what they will call us for accepting their continued presence after this…"

"The turians attacked first, Councilor," said Aldaris. "A wise place to start, I think. Is that not how it always begins?"

"Was that a crack about first contact?!" asked Garrus, rounding on Aldaris, his fraying temper finally giving away completely. "How dare you!"

"Vakarian, I have already suffered one political embarrassment because of you," said Udina as a heavy hand fell on Garrus's shoulder. "I will not suffer another. Kerrigan, remove him from the area and have him treated for shock. Quickly, please."

The hand pulled him back, and Kerrigan led him away from the small huddle of politicians and towards a small medical tent.

 _It's okay, Garrus._ Kerrigan's voice echoed in Garrus's head, unbidden. _You did good. Next is trying to get you to keep me out. You okay?_

 _I keep having the same recurring nightmare, Kerrigan. Just now, I think I lived it._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: David**


	12. Operation Thieving Shepherd

**David**

David sipped a cool glass of water, his dried throat rejoicing at the trickle of liquid. _Huh. Fifty-fifty chance that it came either from our stores harvested on Sol, or from Braxis down below._ It shouldn't matter, but the uncertainty made him lower the glass from his lips, wondering what kind of potential alien pathogens now began a slow dance through his body. _Water is water._ He shrugged and brought the glass to his mouth once more.

The _Normandy_ conference room did not feature as much space as David might have liked. The number of chairs seated around the vidcom terminal were low in number, which was understandable given the small number of the crew, but the low-hanging ceiling and presence of only two low-powered light fixtures made the entire room feel like someone's basement rather than a place to exchange information and receive orders. _It feels like a half-assed add-on, like someone realized towards the end of construction that a conference room was necessary and opted to remodel a storage closet within the space of two days._ David squinted in the dim light, looking around at the other waiting officers. _I can barely see their faces … and now my eyes hurt. I'll have to see if I can't borrow an operating lamp from the medbay or something. This is ridiculous._

"You looking forward to this, Captain?" asked the man on his left, sitting slightly hunched in his own chair. David could just barely see the scraggly face underneath the officer's cap. _Joker._ The lieutenant had insisted on being called that, and David didn't care enough about the issue to argue otherwise. _From what I've seen of his record, we certainly do not have another pilot like him._ He set the glass aside.

"If this operation is successful, it will significantly speed up the expected timetable of returning to Earth," said David. "While I don't feel enthusiastic, I am at least eager for it to be over with. How about yourself? Nervous?"

"I've taken her on plenty of test drives, Captain," said Joker, the smile just barely visible in the crappy lighting. He smacked the arm of his chair good-naturedly. "I'm actually looking forward to the real thing. Flying low over an enemy orbital platform, theoretically invisible, listening in on drunken colonial jabber…" He sighed. "Can't wait. I'm gonna put this baby through her paces." He leaned forward. "How 'bout you, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Duran shifted from his seat on David's left. Even in the gloom, his wide smile seemed to glow. _I was dearly hoping that my only association with the man would be to conscript him, and then sign him off on a prison ship for interrogation. Becoming his designated handler was most certainly_ not _my intention._

"Speaking as a resident colonial, I am looking forward to Mengsk being dealt the first real blow to his regime," said Duran. "I am hoping that this signals the advent of a new era, one of a united terran race, free of tyrants, ready and able to repel all threats." He shrugged, still smiling. "A lofty goal, but as I was told so often in my youth, the path of vengeance is slow, steep, and riddled with thorns. The trick is to be patient, recuperate when necessary, but never surrender that righteousness, that anger. Do you agree, Captain?"

"The satisfaction is fleeting," said Shepard, leaning forward in her seat past Duran, "but the regret is forever. The dead stay dead."

"Is that why you opted to become a medic, Commander?" asked Duran, shifting in his seat. "I find that an interesting view in a soldier. Do you believe the good Emperor Mengsk to be deserving of life?"

"He should be tried in a colonial court, all crimes exposed," said Shepard, unblinking. "Vengeance breeds defiance, resentment. Justice, a slower path than even vengeance, brooks less argument. If we simply execute him-"

The lights dimmed further, cutting Shepard off. All conversations in the room ceased as the vidcom screen went live, revealing the stony faces of Admiral DuGalle and Vice Admiral Stukov.

"Captain Anderson, it is good to see you on schedule," said DuGalle, inclining his head. "The team is assembled, good. Once more I offer my congratulations to you and your team for the successful op on the surface of Braxis. I confess I had my doubts about your conscription of the good Lieutenant here, but he has proven a valuable asset. The _Normandy_ is the reward for your prowess. Be proud, Captain, for there is no other ship like it in the Armada, or indeed, the galaxy."

"Colonial casualties were minimal, none of your own soldiers were lost, and we secured all we needed from the Dominion's databanks," said Stukov, offering at thin-lipped smile. "Exemplary performance, all of you. I am certain what we are about to see will be even more impressive."

"We have finally located the Dylarian Shipyards, a critical element of the Dominion's infrastructure in this part of the empire," said DuGalle, glancing to his left, probably at Stukov's screen. "As expected, the absence of foes in this part of the Sector has left the Shipyards mostly bereft of security, resources, and much to do. This area of space is patrolled, but only lightly. Nevertheless, our sources indicate that a mighty prize waits for those with both the skill and daring to infiltrate the orbital platforms."

"We have confirmed the presence of roughly 12.5% of the Dominion's existing ships in dry dock," said Stukov, "less than we would have liked, but one caught our eye and may redeem the otherwise poor pickings. Captain, there is a colonial dreadnought present in the Shipyards, a Daedalus dreadnought."

"Nice!" Joker coughed awkwardly as everyone looked at him. "I mean, uh, a good find. We can use one of those. Yeah."

"Gentlemen, Cerberus has only confirmed the existence of six Dominion dreadnoughts," said Duran, voice ringing clear, "securing this ship would immediately and significantly strengthen your position against Mengsk and his ilk. However, I would like to duly remind you all that General Duke is already en route to Braxis. Take too long to launch, and we have to repel him here. Launch soon, and he will receive a priority alert and immediately divert to defend the Shipyards. Any assault we launch will only have, by my calculations, about five hours to conclude before the hammer falls. I suggest we blend speed with caution."

"Thank you, _Lieutenant_ ," said DuGalle, his eyes narrowing. "Now, I am aware you are likely used to autonomy and a certain … laxness of protocol in your operations, but I will still only tell you this once. You will pay keen attention to rank when you address any of us, and you will speak in these meetings only with the permission of a superior officer. Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course … Admiral," replied Duran, eyes flicking to Joker. David shifted in his own chair, uncomfortable. _So, the pilot gets away scot free after making a totally unnecessary and unprofessional remark, but the man who notifies us of the ticking clock is sharply reprimanded for speaking out of turn. Why? Because he is a colonial?_

"Thanks to the intel from Duran's little organization, we are aware that Duke is currently orbiting the former zerg hive world of Char," said DuGalle, directing his attention back to the rest of the officers. "From what we understand of Dominion Warp capabilities and nearby inhabited Dominion worlds, there are only three locations to jump to from Dylar IV. Two of them are little more than dusty backworlds, but the other, Agria, is a farming world, host to endless fields of wheat, beans, and domestic livestock. While it would not quite meet the needs of this Armada on its own, capturing Agria would substantially lessen the strain on our food supplies as we awaken further elements of our fleet."

"The plan is this: infiltrate the shipyards with the _Normandy_ and begin commandeering the ships, while also cutting of Duke's means of escape and hopefully enabling capture of the man," continued DuGalle, eyes gleaming beneath the brim of his hat. "In a best case scenario, this would half end the war before it began, but hiccups are expected. You have all proven yourselves the best we have to offer, I am sure the results will be nothing less than extraordinary. We will now take questions before forwarding the layout of the Shipyards."

Kaidan raised his hand. "Sir, how much resistance can we be expecting?"

"The vast majority of the Shipyard's defenses are designed to repel enemy fleets, with actual troop presence on the platforms themselves being minimal," said Stukov. "There is, of course, a sizable marine detachment, but most of that detachment is on the surface of Dylar IV itself, where most of the living facilities are located. A frontal assault from our Armada would be cost-prohibitive, but a few small teams of commandos arriving on the platform itself, as if from nowhere?" Stukov smiled widely, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. "Provided you act quickly enough, you should be able to seize the colonial assets before troops are ferried from the planet and into the Shipyards."

Shepard raised her hand. DuGalle nodded in her direction, a polite smile playing on his lips.

"Dominion battlecruisers typically require crews of between six hundred and twelve hundred men," said Shepard. "It is possible to run battlecruisers with only a few dozen crew, but combat effectiveness is severely impaired. With all due respect, the _Normandy_ could only house perhaps seventy additional crewmembers to pilot a battlecruiser in addition to its standing crew, meaning that at most we could commandeer only two ships." _Yes, that is a bit of a problem._ David knew that when he stood from his chair, he ran the risk of bumping into the ceiling. _The_ Normandy _is already hurting for space._

"You have certainly done your homework, Commander," said DuGalle, inclining his head. "Yes, we have already come up with a workaround. EDI, elaborate."

"I am already coordinating over 300 battlecruisers, assisting chiefly with maintenance and course correction," said EDI, making Shepard wince slightly. "Each UED pilot will be assigned a data packet that will allow me to establish a direct uplink with each battlecruiser's adjutant. This will allow me to control each battlecruiser's secondary functions with an expected 48% efficiency."

"Given the circumstances, that percentage is perfectly acceptable," declared Stukov. "However, it is worth noting that a trained helmsman will still be needed to actually pilot the ship itself; EDI lacks the capability to take full control of any vessel for…" Stukov paused, eyes flicking to Alenko, David, and Shepard. "…obvious reasons." _Yes. Too damn obvious. Remember the last time we gave an AI the reins? Because I'm pretty sure I'll never forget._

"This means that the pilots we assign you must be protected at all costs," said DuGalle. "When the time comes, send a signal to the Vice Admiral indicating that you are ready. That way, once Duke arrives, he will be facing not only a hardened UED battlegroup, but also a sizable portion of the Dominion's own armada. Are there any further questions?"

"How much time do we have to prepare?" asked David, flexing and relaxing his fingers.

"You have twelve hours before we must launch," said Stukov. "If possible, I would prefer it if you launched sooner, to give yourselves more time to make the attack before Duke's arrival. As soon as you are ready, we will be making concurrent strikes on Yolsof V, Agria, and Demon's Fair; resistance is expected to be minimal. Your job is the hardest, and the longer we wait, the harder it will be. Is there anything else?"

"Send us the schematics, Vice Admiral," said David. This drew a warm smile from Stukov.

"We will await your word, Captain," said Stukov. "Best of luck."

Stukov's screen winked out, but DuGalle's remained active.

"You are all dismissed," said DuGalle, shifting his head about the room. "Barring you, Captain. I would like a word."

David remained in his seat while Joker struggled out of his. It was only when Shepard lent him a hand with his crutches that he was able to move with any real speed; even then he left the room last.

David stared up at DuGalle, who wore a disapproving frown upon his long face. The silence dragged on for almost a minute, making David sweat.

"Lieutenant Duran is the strongest psionic we have at our disposal and he has pledged himself to our cause," said DuGalle. "However, despite Alexei's assurances and the Lieutenant's continued and valuable cooperation, I have lingering doubts about the man and the organization he represents. I suppose it goes without saying that I want you to keep an eye on him, Captain?"

"My instincts tell me something is clearly wrong with that man, sir," said David, wiping a small amount of sweat from his brow. "Just … something seems off. I do not know the extent of his neural modification or what his background was like, but his demeanor is unnaturally unflappable. When I enlisted him, I hoped he would be held as a prisoner on Braxis until all his secrets had been extracted. Sir."

"He has resisted extraction attempts," said DuGalle, his left eye twitching once. "He has put us in contact with a man the Dominion swears up and down doesn't exist. And now we are assigning him to one of the most critical missions in our campaign." The admiral leaned forward. "If he were to fall in combat … a tragedy to be sure … it might end up proving strategically significant in the long run. He is the only Cerberus agent on this mission – I do not think there would be many questions."

"I understand completely, sir," said David. _Not the kind of thing I want to ever hear from a superior officer, but I do understand. And I suppose I somewhat agree._ David still put the thought from his mind; they would need Duran … and he didn't need the ghost sussing out his thoughts.

"Good," said DuGalle, shifting uncomfortably. "At any rate, Captain, I wish you the best of luck. Liberate as many capital ships as you can and return to us safely. DuGalle out."

David stood and immediately banged his head against the low-hanging ceiling. Muttering a low curse, he exited the room with all speed, trying to forget what he had just been told.

"Sheeps," said Shepard as soon as he had exited, making him jump. "We have to liberate the capital sheeps. From the sheepyard."

David cast the commander a strange look. Joker leaned against the wall behind him, coughing in a muted fashion that suggested stifled laughter. Shepard looked up at David, not even a hint of a smile.

"You're making fun of the admiral, I take it?" asked David. Shepard gave a slow nod, which David returned. "Thank you, commander. Now I will never be able to unhear it. Round up the crew. We need to come up with a plan to liberate these sheeps at once."

They gathered together in the shuttle bay, a small haptic display demonstrating the layout of the upcoming AO. The "crew," in this case, consisted of the _Normandy_ crew and no less than seventy-five jittery pilots, none of whom seemed to look forward to being thrust into a war zone. Nevertheless, a few mentions of "sheeps" and naming the operation "Thieving Shepherd" brought smiles to some of their faces.

The "sheepyard" layout looked simple, and security inside the perimeter itself appeared relatively lax; it was clear from the number of shuttle docking stations that in the event of an emergency, reinforcements would be brought in from Dylar itself rather than relying primarily on existing forces on the platform. _It makes sense. It's probably much easier to keep people supplied on the planet's surface, lowering the overall cost of maintaining the platform. Still … this means we should probably expect prompt reinforcements from the planet._ _That can't happen._

"The _Normandy_ can run on full silent for only about four hours, Captain," said Joker. "That means no emissions, no visibility. It's the only thing that'll fool those missile turrets. Past that, I gotta back up and let the core cool back down. We need to capitalize on that time."

 _We have a heavily armed frigate that could turn heavily invisible, flown by the best damn pilot Earth could find._

"Me and Jenkins can handle any ground resistance, sir," said Williams. "The Commander just needs to make sure we're patched up whenever we take a ding." _We have the best damn team that the UED brought with them._

"There may be a small presence of ghosts on the platform, Captain," said Duran, leaning back in his own chair, looking totally at ease. "I will, of course, attempt to neutralize them before they become a problem." _And we brought a ghost. He's not really ours, but he seems fine with the idea of killing for us. He's certainly quite proficient at it._

"With all due respect, Captain," said a pilot in the back row, raising his hand, "it seems to me that we should be throwing a lot more force at this than one team. How the hell are you going to keep us alive with the resources available?"

David looked to his team. Jenkins frowned, Williams had folded her arms and tapped her fingers against them, Alenko simply studied the Captain, while Shepard looked as she always did – withdrawn. Only Duran offered a warm smile.

"Because we've been given more than enough," said David. "And this is not about simply throwing sheeps and men at our enemy, for that it what they would expect and have indeed prepared for. This is about applying leverage and force in the most efficient manner possible. We have the best team available, the best technology available. We will not fail you."

This seemed to appease the pilot, who lowered his hand and coughed into a clenched fist. He said nothing more. When David finalized the plan, going over each step for the captive audience, it was only Shepard who raised her hand.

"Is preservation of colonial lives a concern, Captain?" asked the commander. "It seems like some of the collateral damage you want us to inflict … it's unnecessary."

"Joker's targets are military, Commander," said David. "We need the colonials on Dylar IV disrupted until the attack is concluded. As I recall, colonial casualties were not mentioned by the Admiral; I think we are doing this mostly for the sheeps. As it stands, carry out your orders, but do not inflict any needless cruelties on the colonials. No execution of surrendering personnel, civilians, or those too wounded to be a threat. Understood?"

His team offered muttered agreements, barring Duran who only shot David another wide smile. _That goes double for you, Lieutenant. One wrong move and you're spaced._

"Good," said David to no one in particular. "Joker, begin flight checks. All pilots, I need you in your suits and ready to go. As for my team – we need to get kitted out. Let's move."

The ship's shuttle bay armory was not quite as comically tiny as the conference room, but it had still clearly been designed with the intention of only kitting out ten people at most. As a result, David banged elbows with Alenko twice as they checked their respective weapons and armor. In the corner, Jenkins ratcheted up the mayhem by tripping over his own feet and landing with a clatter. David didn't even bother reprimanding the red-faced corporal – the team just gave him a look.

Duran waited politely to the side while everyone else entered their armor, his own sleek-looking black rifle slung over his shoulder. When David emerged from the armory, clad in the silver of the Argent armor, he towered over the man. _Almost drives the anxiety away … until you remember what he's capable of with just his brain._

"I notice you have chosen somewhat louder equipment, Captain," said Duran, brown eyes scanning over the bandolier of plasma grenades before shifting to the battle rifle. "I look forward to seeing you and your team let loose."

David smirked and shifted out of the way, letting Jenkins and Williams come on through. They stomped through the doorway barrels first, the servomotors of their suits whirring as the miniguns bounced to their footstep.

"We're going loud this time," said Williams, voice muffled through the helmet. David still thought he could hear the smile. She exchanged a quick high five with Jenkins, their hands going _clank_ as they met. Last to finish were Alenko and Shepard, the latter of whom could barely fit through the door in her white armor. _Seriously? This is supposed to be the most advanced ship of the fleet. I suppose they had to cut down on the size of doors to make a little extra room for the eezo core?_ David shook his head. _This is a disgrace._

"Wait here with the dropship; I'm going to check in with Joker," said David, hitting the button to the shuttle bay turbolift. _I need to make sure the pilot is perfectly clear on his role here. If he screws up, we all likely die._

Scores of crewman now occupied the computers in the CIC, which had filled with the mutters of a flight crew hard at work. Joker, meanwhile, had already taken up position in his chair, swiveling as David's heavy gait caught his ear.

"Captain," said the lieutenant, touching the brim of his hat. "She's pretty much ready to go – we're just picking up our freshly armored pilots and waiting for your order. Everything okay down below?"

"We're ready, Joker," said David, flashing a large thumbs up. "I need to make sure that _you're_ ready. Are you clear on the targets?"

"No civilian structures, factories, mag-rails, starports, yadda yadda, anything that is civilian or potentially useful should be left undamaged if possible," said Joker before wiggling his eyebrows. "For bonus points, once either the Daedalusdreadnought is secure or I'm about to lose cloak, I am to contact the Vice Admiral and retreat to a safe distance as he lights Duke's fleet up. Anything else?"

David offered his hand. Joker grabbed it and shook with surprising force.

"Stay safe, Lieutenant." David turned briskly, feeling just a tad more confident about the mission. _We know what we're doing._ He still gulped upon seeing the rows of pilots waiting in the shuttle bay, each clad in civilian class Lambda armor. _That'll absorb a round or two and protect them from shrapnel … but it's hardly going to let them survive sustained fire._ He grimaced under his helmet. _Too late for any doubts._

"I'm going to assign you to teams!" bellowed David, making the hubbub of countless nervous pilots die down. "From what we can see, these sheeps gather in flocks of about eight each," said David. "Put yourselves in groups of eight." This left an outlier group of three, which was fine. They'd be assigned the dreadnought. _I would hit that first if I could, but its defenses are going to need softening before anyone gets close._

"Cortez!" The pilot, already clad in flight gear, popped his head out from the side of the center dropship. "You're taking our team in. We're jacked up and good to go. Ready?"

"Gun's checked and loaded, engines are good, and all other pilots are green," yelled back Cortez. "I'm ready to take you in, Captain."

"Then let us begin." David pointed to two separate groups of pilots. "You lot and you lot, take a dropship; you're going in first." The pilots scrambled for the other dropships while David's team clambered aboard Cortez's, Ashley manning the side mounted gun. Duran was the last one in, helped up the step by Shepard. _Awful nice of you, Commander._ Duran offered a muttered thanks and a small nod as he strapped himself in next to David. Despite his head being turned away, David thought he could still see the reflection of the man's teeth. _Smiles way too much, in the same way a crocodile would._ Shepard exchanged a quick look with David as she seated herself opposite him. If David didn't know better, it looked admonishing. _Shaming a superior officer. Huh. Tempted to do the same to DuGalle._

"EDI, patch me in to Stukov," said David, almost hoping that the AI would not respond, that her omnipresence might for once prove faulty.

"At once, Captain," replied EDI smoothly. _Can't believe they kept the same damn voice as the one on Luna …_ Shepard and he exchanged another look, and this time it was one of sympathy. _We're never going to forget, are we?_

"I read you, Captain," said the Vice Admiral, voice clipped. "Is it time?"

"We are ready to launch our attack, sir," said David, armored fingers lightly squeezing his thigh while his pulse quickened. "We should have eleven hours to work with; more than enough time. Just give the order."

" _Normandy_ , begin warp," said Stukov, his voice now reverberating through the ship's interior. "We will see you once the ships fly the UED banner. Best of luck – glory to Earth."

 _Right._ Some of the pilots waiting in the shuttle bay echoed Stukov's words, but the dropship's interior remained silent. Williams was nodding her head over and over again while she gripped the Gatling gun's handles, locked in her private pre-battle trance. Jenkins, massive weapon gripped at his side, had leaned back and begun muttering to himself. Shepard and Alenko appeared to be the only people seemingly at ease, the only sign of anxiety being a rapidly tapping leg and hand respectively.

"This is your helmsman speaking," said Joker over the intercom, "we are detaching from _Aleksander._ Brace for jump. Captain – I'm sending a video uplink."

David's wrist blinked twice. He tapped the attached PDA and leaned back while a holographic display of the cockpit lit up. Joker turned from his chair and wiggled his fingers in greeting.

"We are aweigh, Captain," said Joker. "Now it's just a matter of watching the fireworks and marveling at my insane talent. Dropship pilots better start firing their engines – this is going to happen pretty quickly."

The visual display in front of Joker now showed off a good portion of the UED Armada, but Joker was turning away, facing towards the empty stars. Once the ships were no longer visible, he would be making the jump.

"It's show time," said Joker, cackling madly at the controls. Shepard shifted in her seat, a raised eyebrow visible through the open visor. _They told me he was the best, Commander, and I believed them._

David's helmet rammed against the back of his seat with a hearty _thunk_ as the entire frigate jumped. Jenkins let off a muffled yelp from past Duran while Cortez's hands continued to dance at the controls. David reoriented himself quickly, bringing the holographic display back to his face while the rest of his team (sans the entranced Williams) leaned in to watch.

"There they are," said Joker, the back of his head barely visible from the seat. "The Dylarian Sheepyards. We are running silent and have gone dark – full blackout conditions. Pilots, stand by for green light."

The massive orbital platform hung silent and imposing before the orange Dylar IV. At the distance they were at presently, the Sheepyards already looked intimidating. David's heart began to thunder violently as the approach only made their colossal nature more and more apparent. _Shit. Damn colonials like their infrastructure big._ Even the shipyards back at Earth just barely matched and then surpassed their size. _Colonials must be drowning in natural resources._

 _Ah well. Time to steal them._

"Lifting off," said Cortez, voice oddly calm amidst the steadily increasing tension inside the shuttle. David's stomach jumped once before settling as the dropship set into the familiar and comforting pattern of movement.

"We're in the bubble," said Cortez, sounding utterly focused. "Nice work, Flight Lieutenant, they'll see these shuttles but we are well past the defenses. We are in the pipe, five by five."

"Got it," said Joker. "Alright – I'm going planetside to play poltergeist with some locals. Poor bastards won't know which way to run. Captain, just send the word when you need the shuttles picked up or some invisible air support. Good hunting."

"Affirmative Lieutenant, excellent work," said David, fingers whitening inside the gloves as he clutched his battle rifle. "Cortez, swing us by the Bay 4 barracks. We're going to do some strafing. Chief, you ready?"

"Oh yeah," said Williams, teeth gritted. "Let's rock."

 _I'm sorry._ David recognized the necessity of what they were about to do, but killing sleeping or otherwise off-duty marines, even colonial ones, made him feel slightly ill. _Better guilty than dead._ The dropship began to rumble and slow. The side door slid open.

"Get some!" Williams screamed, hands squeezing the enormous gatling gun. The weapon coughed and span, massive shells streaming from the weapon as it went about its deadly business. Alenko, ammo belts laid against his lap, fed the monster as it slowly chewed its meal. David thought he could hear faint screams, but it was likely only his imagination. There was only the melodious _rat-tat-tat-tat_ of the weapon and the distant but quite audible sound of screeching metal and shattering glass.

"Make another pass, Lieutenant!" called out Williams, gatling gun now spinning without producing any further mayhem. "I still see a lot of movement out there!"

"I can make one more pass and then we need to rendezvous with those pilots," said Cortez, voice brooking no argument. "We're on a tight schedule here."

The weapon continued to spin while Williams leaned in and Alenko sorted through ammo belts, his hands deft and sure. David let out a long stream of air and checked Duran's face. The man wasn't smiling anymore, just staring at the monster of a weapon they had mounted to the side of the ship. _Certain designs never lose their charm._ They had experimented with Gatling lasers in the past, but the heat buildup did not justify the slight increase in firepower, not when advanced targeting systems and powered armor allowed for bigger guns and eliminated the need to lead the target.

This time David was sure he heard screams. The gun coughed and steamed, its barrels whirring with blinding speed while Williams systematically demolished any hope of immediate reinforcements on this part of the Shipyards. Muffled pops and bangs echoed through the distance, a macabre applause for their performance. David could not help but feel relief when Williams finally let go of the weapon and sat back, breathing hard.

"That's that," was all she said, head bowed.

"Run complete; I'm hearing a lot of klaxons," said Cortez. The team slid their visors down, thankfully muting the aforementioned klaxons somewhat. "Joker's playing merry hell with Dylar IV's garrison – doesn't look like they're paying much attention to the Shipyards right now. Alright, Captain, I'm touching down."

"You and me first out, Commander," said David, nodding to the green visor. The Commander shifted her shield and rested a hand on the button that would free her from the safety harness. The dropship wobbled and slowed. David looked quickly behind him, and for once was glad to see Duran's smile. _Good. He's probably our only deterrent to any psionic elements aboard these Shipyards._

The dropship stopped, and the hatch opened with a whistle that quickly developed into a howl.

"Go! Go!" David and Shepard leapt from the craft side by side, landing with a clank against the Shipyard's floor. They moved forward, scanning, the others falling out in pairs behind them. Jenkins and Williams were the last, their gait heavy and imposing. Their miniguns whirred quietly before ceasing.

The pilots stood there, hands raised before their own dropships. Their gleaming white Lambda armor, thick and heavy as it was, still looked more like a desperate facsimile of an EOD suit rather than something designed to survive fire from a gauss rifle.

"With us!" David motioned for the pilots to follow before pointing at a sextet of nearby battlecruisers hanging silently in space. David directed his vision closer to ground, to the three squat bunkers that his suit determined was crawling with motion. _At least these colonials have the chance to shoot back._

"Duran – take the right bunker!" yelled David. "Alenko, Jenkins, left! Shepard, Williams, take center!" Duran faded from sight as David knew he would while everyone else divvied up. The guns laying against the bunkers swiveled wildly before distorting the air with their discharge. David kneeled and lay the sights against his eye, the suit correcting for distance.

 _Crack._ One barrel disappeared from the narrow window. The others had trained on the minigun-toting madmen that now pelted their bunkers with rounds.

Shepard crouched behind Williams, her nanosutures trailing a stream of green as Williams withstood the onslaught, grunting as the odd round punched through her armor. The center bunker's guns grew quieter and then laid still under Williams's barrage. Meanwhile, the right had gone ominously quiet, with no sign of life or movement.

David shifted, firing twice more into the slits of the remaining bunker. The motion sensor in his suit went a little less crazy, and he tried to line up another shot. Shepard advanced to Jenkins, rounds pinging off her heavy armor and combat shield. Jenkins, covered in weeping wounds, ceased his bleeding as she applied medical attention. Jenkins did not spare her any attention, instead shifting his aim, the stream of sparks against the bunker moving up and to the right, falling just inside the slit from which the sole surviving marine returned fire. The pockmarked final bunker fell silent. Duran reappeared with a shimmer, wiping a blood-drenched blade absentmindedly against his suit.

"You have your packets! Move! Fucking move!" The six pilots who had doubtless drawn the longer straws on the way in sprinted past David with all speed, stopping under the battlecruisers to be carried upward by the emergency extraction field. David, wary of any resistance inside the craft or sabotage from the cursed EDI, halted the squad. The battlecruisers remained moored, their engines silent. After five minutes, the first launched from the moorings to widespread sighs of relief, a triumphant cry of "battlecruiser operational" coming through the comms. The other five were quick to follow.

"Keep moving!" called David, checking all directions and finding movement. "Commander, stay close to the pilots. Pilots – stay behind Williams and Jenkins. Cortez – status report!"

"Dylar IV is on fire, Captain," said Cortez. "Joker's tearing the place up. They're actually setting missile turrets to manual and trying to guess where he is. It's a mess. Chatter indicates they think they're getting assaulted by the protoss."

"Talk to EDI and get on board one of the battlecruisers we just took," said David, wincing as a spark from a missed round glanced his foot. He took cover behind a vacant SCV, glancing nervously around the side. "Tell Joker to make another pass to pick you up in ten minutes, and then drop you off again with a fresh set of pilots five minutes after that. Then he needs to keep the pressure up planetside again."

"Got it, Captain," said Cortez. "Relaying orders to the other dropship pilots."

"Battlecruisers, I need you to start taking out the shipyard's outer defenses," said David. "Most of those guns are pointing outward and we've taken the crew by surprise. Forty-eight percent efficiency my ass, the job is not difficult. Get to it. Out."

"Squad on the left!" called out Jenkins, liberally applying the minigun. "Williams, keep 'em off the pilots!" David leaned around the SCV, rifle nestled against his shoulder. Six marines had fanned out and taken cover behind construction equipment, popping out to either take potshots at Williams or the pilots she guarded with her body.

"I got this," said Alenko. A burst of flame erupted from the equipment, making rivulets of steel run from the marine's cover. The screams pierced David's brain, and he felt no regret as he squeezed six neat shots into the flaming figures. _Bad way to go._

"We've got dropships coming in from the other bays," said Alenko, planting an unfolding turret firmly on the ground. "I'm going to try and remote access security through EDI and begin coopting missile turrets. Should make it harder to cross." The turret beeped and began spitting bullets in the direction of the planet. Sparks flew from the enemy dropship David had previously been unable to see.

"Firing lockdown round, Captain," said Duran, appearing from nowhere with smoking rifle in his arms. The gun crackled with energy as the lieutenant fired into the heavens. The dropship, previously closing the distance, now hung there, hull crackling, its engine idling almost directly overhead. Duran wiped his mouth and aimed at the engines.

Not bothering to watch what happened next, David covered the medic and two marines as they approached the next dock, this one containing the promised eight sheeps. Ground crew fled at their approach, and David felt pleased to see that no one fired on them. Their own pilots fell into position, sprinting to access the sheeps. _Good. It's going good. Fourteen down._

"This is Joker, I got your dropships, Captain." David nodded to himself at the pilot's voice, scanning for the next area to hit. "Making another pass in five minutes. Sending coordinates for rendezvous."

The horizon, such as it was on a space station, had turned a mix of orange and red. Fourteen Dominion battlecruisers had been coopted and now rampaged through the platform's defenses, their EDI assisted maneuvers clumsy but serviceable. _It's going well. We're doing this. It's … going okay._

The three dropships descended at the rally point minutes later where David and his team already waited. Enemy marines flooded in from all directions, shouting in confusion at the lack of orders and reinforcements, at the presence of an unknown and undeniably successful attacking force. If they hoped to wear Jenkins, Williams, and Alenko's turrets down through sheer numbers, it was a fool's errand. Shepard patched up every injury that punched through the Argent armor, and when the dropships arrived, the bore not only pilots but also more ammunition. _It's not going to stop, boys. You need to get your shit together._

"Heading back planetside!" called out Joker. "Shit, Captain, this is getting out of hand."

"Keep moving, we're shifting bays!" yelled David. "Alenko, get this gangplank down."

"On it." Alenko did not miss a beat, shifting to the edge of the platform, right on the lip of open space, and jamming a cord from his wrist and into the console. The gangplank, a massive bridge of neosteel, shifted and then descended swiftly, falling into place and linking Bays 4 and 2.

"Alright, shift-" David coughed, having felt a familiar and unwelcome pressure on his side. He looked down, watching the blood bubble from the fresh wound. He fell to a knee, dropping his weapon and grabbing his side while the world went mad around him.

"I got you, Captain," said a voice from behind him, lifting him to his feet. David felt a prick that shot tendrils of warmth through his body, and the blood ceased its bubbling. Shepard shoved him forward. "Keep moving! Duran's got the ghosts!"

David nodded, following the yelling marines as they continued their bloody advance, muttering a curse to himself as he stepped over the fallen bodies of two pilots. _I promised I would protect them._

"I've got ahold of some of their defenses, Captain. Picking dropships out of the sky left and right." Alenko flashed David a thumbs up as he passed, though even he sounded breathless at this stage. "Unfortunately, it looks like they're figuring out where the real threat is. Stealing battlecruisers and burning down half the orbital platform will do that. Joker might want to start running intercept instead of just bombing everything in sight."

"Joker – dropships inbound for the Shipyards," coughed David. "Ease up on the AG assault and start picking apart the transports. It's busy enough up here."

Joker's response was barely audible over the chaos, and David didn't have time to divert brainpower into figuring out what he said. He continued forward, occasionally feeling a slight stab of pain at his side. The world became a matter of ducking behind construction, picking out the loudest targets, and putting them on their asses through a few shots center mass. Williams and Jenkins had become shrieking deities of death – everywhere they went, a cone of white hot hate burst forth, coating the platform in gore. Alenko's contributions were harder to see, but every now and then a great orange fireball burst overhead, making David laugh. _Shit. I can see why the colonials still use stims._ Of Duran, there was no sign. _At least the ghosts are gone._

They herded the pilots as best they could through Bay 2, ushering them from supposedly safe piece of cover to supposedly safe piece of cover as all the while the Dominion sent everything they had. David marched forward, barking orders to the worthless little shits to clamber aboard each battlecruiser they passed. Their lumbering exodus only adding to the noise and slaughter. _We're winning. We're winning._

"Captain," said Duran, his voice sending a familiar surge of anxiety through David's body, "I have neutralized the enemy ghosts, and I fear it may have sent me down a dark path. I have cut a bloody swath through the defenses and have now found myself in possession of Dominion nuclear silos. These are tac nukes, Captain, and will not overly stress the stability of the platform. I am dearly tempted to use them, Captain, and I hope you will not think less of me for it. Can you think of a good place for these nukes to find a new home?"

 _Argent and Lambda armor should keep the radiation and heat out._ David's bloodshot eyes wandered about Bay 2, seeing little that warranted that kind of ordinance. "Not yet, Duran," said David, panting. "Not yet."

The last battlecruiser at Bay 2 pushed itself free of its moorings to join its brothers currently tormenting Dominion gunners at the edges of the Shipyards. Joker shouted something and sent a new set of rendezvous coordinates on Bay 3. David checked his sensors and detected the telltale signs of siege tanks lying in wait. _Ah. Fresh from the planet no doubt._

"Duran," said David, licking his lips from inside the helmet, "I've found a place for a nuke."

Alenko dropped the gangplank, and David ordered a stop. Duran dropped the nuke, and David could not help but look away. The mushroom cloud climbed high above the artificial atmosphere of the orbital platform, burning away excess oxygen and resistance alike. When they met the next batch of pilots, it was amidst the shimmering embers of ground zero.

"Fucking hell," spat a pilot. "I thought we were supposed to be avoiding as much collateral as possible!"

"We need more sheeps!" screamed David, shoving the pilot and knocking him over. He pointed to the hanging silhouettes of the next batch of battlecruisers. "Sheeps!"

David's squad only laughed at this, barring Shepard who pressed another drug into David's arm. _Shit. Need to keep in control._ Shepard patted him on the shoulder and gestured with her free arm, as if to say "after you." He offered a muttered thanks and pushed on, marching around the smoking slag that had once been a siege tank.

This time, everything seemed to slow. Each crack of the rifle rumbled like thunder, while the fireballs overhead burst in a resplendence of amber and crimson. Each foe that fell before him collapsed as if commanded by a drunken puppeteer, limbs flailing about as they cartwheeled through space. Shepard's armor shone white like the stars above, the red crosses on the shield and armor obscured by the radiance. Jenkins and Williams left a trail of casing behind them, each falling with a clatter like a fork dropped from a high chair. Like … _Kahlee … I hope you never see me like this._

It was too much. They had been given the best equipment, the best team, the best pilot, the best ship. Battlecruisers exited the battlefield in a steady procession of burning engines and singed steel, leaving the madness behind. Shepard pressed more drugs into the team as they grew steadily more out of control to little avail. Alenko cackled in a high pitch to himself like a super villain on acid while the dropships burst overhead like poorly handled fireworks. Williams and Jenkins now only communicated in swear words, shouting wild conjoined obscenities at each colonial they left ruined and bloody on the ground. The only two who maintained any semblance of professionalism were Shepard and Duran, the former healing all injuries the shrieking warriors sustained with barely a sound, the other a grinning phantom, dancing about the battlefield with a set of teeth that shone brighter than any of his rifle's muzzle flashes.

"Last batch, Captain!" called out Cortez as David sucked in a trail of drool from within his helmet. "Get to Bay 1; we need that dreadnought!"

"Captain, the core is overheating, I've got about fifteen minutes left, tops. Got any last bombing targets?" _Joker. Have we gone mad?_

The last gangplank fell. At the other end stood something David had only ever read about. Huge, metal, bipedal, its guns built into its arms while anti-orbital cannons peered over its shoulder. _A Thor. Huh._

"IT'S OVER, IDIOTS!"

They scattered, the ground around them rupturing in a haze of shrapnel. Shepard was the only one who stood her ground, sustaining the sparks and fury with a raised shield, each glowing ember bouncing from her armor and leaving long fingers of black. She raised her arm, the undermounted optical flare launching protruding from beneath her wrist. She fired once, and the Thor crackled.

"I CANNOT SEE!" The Thor pilot, loudspeakers still blazing, began to panic. First he fired his weapons blindly, accomplishing little other than adding to the cacophony, and then his pilot apparently began hammering away at any button he could see. The Thor stopped, turned, began blaring what might have been heavy metal music, and then promptly ejected the pilot with a low hiss, sending the idiot's body shooting up, up, through the artificial atmosphere, and then drifting through space beyond. The squad advanced, armor sparking from the heat and shrapnel they had been exposed to, ears ringing from the continued stream of noise issuing from the Thor's loudspeakers.

This time they had to fight for that rally point. The Dominion had started bringing in Goliaths, and it was all Duran could do to hit them with a lockdown round before they could fully bring their twin chainguns to bear. The Dominion marines had only become more persistent and belligerent over time, even as the docks they defended burned around them. David, covered in barely sealed wounds, hands shaking from controlling his weapon, finally began to feel that horrible, snaking sensation of _fear._ The Daedalus waited for them beyond, the prize they had been fighting for. Most of the defenses lay demolished, the area littered with the smoking stubs of former missile turrets. David looked to his team and nodded. _One final push._

The pilots followed closely behind the budding maniacs that had been pledged to protect them, heads down at almost all times. Duran faded and reemerged almost at random throughout the battlefield, either laying down a slew of precise shots that left marines bleeding on the floor, or pushing his serrated knife into the joints of his foes, panicking nearby allies who witnessed the maniac slipping a blade underneath the codpiece of their comrade.

At last, at long last, they had almost reached the dreadnought, the great equalizer that promised to keep the Council from the Koprulu Sector when the time came. Only one pilot was left, the same fellow to whom David had pledged his protection. David walked alongside him, covering him from the left, taking wounds that would have been his, killing anyone that dared survive the wrath of Jenkins and Williams. They were almost there.

David didn't hear the shot, making him think that he'd been hit when blood covered his visor. He dropped the rifle, hands searching for the bullet hole, a vicious animal fear settling over him. But he could not find a new wound. He turned slowly and looked down upon the pilot. The pilot stared back, gurgling, blood pumping from a gaping hole in his neck. The helmet had been knocked aside, letting David see the way the man's eyes bulged, bigger and bigger, almost until it seemed they'd burst. The Daedalus now waited for a pilot who would never come.

"I'm calling in the Vice Admiral, Captain," said Joker, sounding … sick. _Nauseous maybe? Why? He doesn't see what I see._ David leaned down and closed the man's eyes with a single index finger, at a loss at what to do. _We need that dreadnought._ "I think you need to get out of there, that Shipyard no longer looks stable. Captain? What's your status?"

"Lost our last pilot," said David, voice hoarse. "Can't take dreadnought without pilot. No pilots left." _None of us can fly the damn thing._

"Uh, Captain … we have a serious problem." _Yes, Joker. I just said-_

"What in the Sam Hill happened here?!" boomed a deep voice with a heavy twang through every surviving intercom on the Shipyard. "Alpha Squadron, form up. It looks like we have a bit of a situation."

"What the hell?" Alenko twisted his head to look at the heavens, his neck craning back. "What the hell?! He's way too early."

"We made a bit of a ruckus," said Ashley, panting. "Shit. He brought Alpha Squadron."

"Only half," said David, checking his sensors. "All battlecruisers, shift to defensive formation and prepare to engage Alpha Squadron. Joker, get the Vice Admiral down here, now!"

"Casualty estimates are high, sir!" called out Joker. "Sending out the message, but without that dreadnought we're gonna be operating at a loss. We're looking at taking out fifty battlecruisers without dreadnought support."

"We have a pilot," said Shepard, grabbing David's arm. "Captain, we have a pilot."

"Who?" asked David, heart thudding, his entire body feeling like it was about to collapse in on itself.

"Joker can do it," said Shepard, still holding on to his arm. "We just … get him down here … and on that dreadnought. Just park the _Normandy_ over a place where the AA has been wiped out."

David looked up at the swiftly approaching Dominion force, pupils dilating in fear. "Joker," he said slowly, "we need you to pilot that dreadnought. Listen closely."

"Are you fucking insane?!" yelled Joker once the plan had been relayed. "We don't have time to let me crutch my way through a goddamn combat zone. What are you gonna do, carry me?"

"That's our only option, so that is what we are doing," said David, suddenly very calm. "Park yourself overhead and get Cortez to shuttle you down here. Duran – take out every son of a bitch colonial that currently stands between us and that sheep. Shepard, I need you following me every step of the way. Williams, Jenkins, start walking. Kill anything in your way." David cracked his knuckles. "I got the pilot."

"I don't know what the hell militia you're part of, but stand down!" yelled Duke, voice magnified many times by the loudspeakers. "In the name of Emperor Arcturus Mengsk, you are ordered to surrender and present yourselves for questionin'. Failure to comply – you don't want to see what I do to people who don't comply."

As if on cue, David's sensors lit up once more. The Vice Admiral's section had arrived.

"More of you?" Duke did not sound impressed. "What kind of pansy ass battlecruisers you fieldin', you goddamn hicks? What militia you from? Is this some kind of Umojan dipshit temper tantrum?"

"General Duke, you arrive ahead of schedule," replied the cool voice of Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. David's legs trembled while Joker's dropship propelled itself away from the now overhead _Normandy_. _Can't let him down._ "This is Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate. Know that we do not represent any ragtag militia, nor any "dipshit Umojan," but instead the combined might of a sovereign Earth."

The dropship descended. Everything seemed to have gone quiet, even the bombastic Duke. When the intercoms flared with static, there was only silence at the end for the first few seconds. Even as the dropship landed and Joker staggered forth on his crutches, David only barely remembered to grab him and charge. No one fired a shot. The Sheepyards waited with bated breath for the General's response.

"You, you came all the way out here from Earth?" sputtered the Duke, all sense of command and self-righteousness banished from his voice.

"That is correct, General," said the Vice Admiral. "We are here to reclaim our wayward colonies and establish a unified human government for the betterment of our species. Dissenters will be summarily executed. Lay down your weapons and prepare to be boarded."

"Over my dead body!" Duke spat back, the fire returning. David listened as best he could, despite the blood rushing through his head, despite the strain in his arms and legs at sprinting with Joker in his arms. _Even the suit isn't helping much anymore. How long have I been fighting. How many … how many people have been killed?_ "I don't care where you boys are from – I take my orders from one man, and that man is gonna have your sorry hides before the year is out. Ready yourselves you goddamn jackals; while you fucks been sittin' back and sippin' tea on Earth, guess what we've been doin'? Guess how good we've gotten at it?"

"You cannot intimidate us, General," replied Stukov. "Your technology lags behind our own. Your leaders commit gross excesses and obey the whims of alien overlords. We will restore order to this Sector and assert human dominance over the galaxy. Starting with you."

David's feet pounded against the steel. Above, the Dominion and UED clashed at long last, flashes of light dancing amidst the void. David followed the trail of bodies Duran had left behind while Joker coughed in his arms and looked up to him with naked fear. The dreadnought hung overhead, a prize as quiet as it was massive.

David felt that familiar pressure again and knew he would soon fall. With a last burst of energy, he propelled himself toward the faint light that heralded the presence of the extraction field. Joker flew free of his arms, the two of them spiraling through the smoky air, trailing blood. David felt his body being sucked upwards, and prayed he didn't land on Joker.

Everything went black for a moment. When he came to, it was to find Shepard crouched over him with an open visor, prying off his chest plate and applying nanosutures to the wound underneath.

"Unlucky last minute there," she said. "Joker's okay. I'll take you to the bridge in a second."

David opened his mouth, let the blood bubble out. Shepard looked at him with sad eyes.

"Stukov's holding," she said. "Winning, even, although I think we lost a cruiser or five. Time to end this." She hoisted him up, carrying him over her shoulders. "Figure we deserve front row seats."

The walk didn't seem to take long to David. He was placed firmly in a co-pilot's seat next to Joker, whose arms shot about erratically as he checked as many instruments as he could.

"EDI, finish up the damn status reports and let me fire these engines!"

"Doing so risks severe engine failure, Mr. Moreau," replied EDI, her voice coming from inside the ship itself. "If you are willing to take that risk-"

"Worst case scenarios are either that we take too long and Stukov shoots us, or we die in a horrible fireball and get showered with medals," said Joker, shaking his head angrily. He slammed a fist against the console. "You know which one I prefer?"

"I judge the likelihood of execution to be very low," said EDI, making Williams swear. "Still, I will comply. Firing engines." David shuddered in his seat as the ship began to shake. "Powering up weapons systems. Fusion core temperature stable. Yamato cannon online."

"Alright EDI, give me some firing solutions." Joker cracked his knuckles and let his fingers play against the console. David watched him with as much interest as he could manage given the sheer amount of chemicals sloshing about in his brain.

"Targeting," said EDI.

"Fire!"

The Daedalus, having only just freed itself from its moorings, began to whine. Joker looked back at the team that had carried him this far and grinned at them.

David shot backward slightly in his seat as the Yamato fired. Joker stood shakily, yelling, exulting.

"Boom!" he called out. "Ten seconds to next shot. Find me a new target!"

"Advancing and retargeting," replied EDI while Shepard and Duran smiled, Williams and Jenkins high-fived, and David just sat there exchanging a tired glance with Alenko.

"Firing!" Joker laughed and shook his head. "Shit, the gun on this thing's ridiculous. Shame the colonials only have six." He rubbed his scraggly chin. "Huh. Guess they only have five now."

Joker fired five more times, his cheeriness changing to determination with each fresh shot. David drifted in and out of memory, struggling to remember where he had just been, what he had just been doing. _Keep thinking … I'm taking a car ride._

"They're leaving," said Joker, shaking his head and chuckling. "Can't say I blame them. Too bad they're just going to run into another section wherever they go." _Right._ The speakers crackled.

"I was not expecting such a late reinforcement, Captain," said Vice Admiral Stukov. "But I must commend you and your team; you saved _Jericho_ and _Sydney_ from being destroyed by the colonials." David croaked, not quite able to respond. "Captain?"

"The Captain has sustained severe injuries, Vice Admiral," said Shepard, sounding far firmer than David had ever heard her before. "I'm stabilizing him but I need proper facilities to do anything more. We will come alongside the _Aleksander_ and bring him to you."

"Of course, Commander," said Vice Admiral. "I am glad to hear he is alive, and you are all to be congratulated on this success! While I admit, the Shipyards look to be in far worse shape than I had expected, you have considerably supplemented the size of our fleet. Well done."

"Did you have to announce our identity to Duke?" asked Shepard, before adding a hasty, "Sir."

"What is the Council more likely to disbelieve, Commander?" asked Alexei. "One – that an unknown hostile terran force has attacked the Dominion and needs to be addressed? Or two – terrans from Earth, the homeworld we have continually downplayed, have arrived and seek to annex us? I would also note that the second leaves the Council with an opening for diplomacy – they place much importance on homeworlds. They may see us as in the right. Which we are."

"A good move, sir," said Shepard, biting her lip. David reached up to her, and took her hand.

"Thank you," he muttered. Shepard waved him off.

"At any rate, the time of secrecy and preparation is over, my friends," said Stukov. "Now the real work begins. The future awaits us."

"I look forward to seeing it!" said Duran, from behind David's seat. David pushed with an unsteady leg, turning the chair to bring himself face to face with the man. "A smashing success, ladies and gentlemen."

"You fed us bad intel," croaked David, pointing. "He was here … in just over four hours."

"Regardless of the quality of intel, I cannot claim responsibility for it," said Duran, shrugging. "I would take it up with the one you call The Illusive Man if you have questions. Besides – is this any sort of time to be doubting one another?" Duran laughed. "No, Captain, how could it be? It is the time for _rest_ , I think, and the time for celebration."

David suddenly felt warm all over. He tried to point one more time, but his arms felt weighed down by unseen chains. He looked into Duran's eyes, lips forming garbled words.

Then the darkness took hold, and David welcomed it.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**


	13. Ancient History

**Valerian**

"There goes the last pair of unsoiled boots," said Valerian upon hearing the dreadful squelch, lifting his left to gaze mournfully at the sole. "I am beginning to suspect I have not paid these people enough for their work here."

Valerian had read the reports for Kessel, of course. He was no fool. The planet's climate, while capable of supporting life, featured freak weather patterns and geological activity that sounded mild on paper but quite hellish in person. Valerian's shuttle arrival, for example, went widely unnoticed by the camp at large thanks to the mudslide minutes before that had buried four tents and nine people.

"Tents?" he had asked incredulously upon stepping from the shuttle. "You set up tents?"

"After the fifteenth lightning strike on the command center, what else were we supposed to do?" snapped back a mud-covered researcher, thrusting a shovel of all things into his arms. "Hop to it! There's people under there!" There had been no disobeying the woman. Valerian did not feel it was worth reminding her of his position. That had been his first day.

His second day had been no better, despite the long-awaited breach of the outer chamber. A gale had swept through the camp with such force that the Dominion flagpole had been dragged from its post and thrust through the heart of a luckless Dominion marine. They found him hours after the winds had finally died away, face down in the mud with seven feet of metal on either side of his sternum. He was resoc, so they buried him outside the camp in an unmarked grave.

The rains came on the third day. What else should slide into camp but the muddy corpse of the marine they had buried, dislodged by the floodwaters? This time they opted for cremation, and Valerian had watched the body burn with a grimace. _If we manage to breach the inner chamber, I will make every one of these people as rich as I am able._

"It is rather inhospitable, isn't it?" said Starke, adjusting his ridiculously vibrant yellow rain jacket with a wan smile. "How did you ever talk your father into letting you come here?"

"We read the descriptions of the planet together, Starke," replied Valerian, placing his boot back on the ground and rolling his shoulders, trying to will away the aches and pains when that did nothing. "Neither of us thought much of them. What are a few storms, a few quakes? If anything, it made the venture seem safer to him. Less chance of assassins showing up."

"I suppose I can understand that reasoning," said Starke, adjusting his similarly bright rain cap. "But I object at calling these conditions "a few storms." With all due respect, Valerian, it has been pissing down for every minute of every day that we have been here. If there was an earthquake, I'm not even sure I'd notice it."

 _Please don't tempt the planet._ Valerian sighed, pulling his own fleece jacket closer to his body, trying to trap some of that warmth. _It's funny, though. It was this same weather that ended up unearthing that temple._

The temple presented its own set of problems. Aside from being virtually impregnable (no drill or laser they had brought could cut through its doors) the building was proving a beacon to the normally disorganized and listless zerg that Valerian had been told long beforehand had occupied the planet. Every time the archaeologists made the journey, the number of sightings increased. More worryingly, the creatures did not attack, instead opting to maintain their distance and observe the trucks on their way to the structure. At first, Valerian had not realized the implications of this.

"Why is it more of a concern that they are not attacking?" Valerian had asked Starke irritably, wringing out his socks within the safety of his tent. "I find that rather reassuring, if anything."

"The zerg are fundamentally mindless these days," replied Starke, having just donned his newly acquired comically yellow slicker. "They attack anything that isn't zerg on sight. Sometimes even that isn't enough; different strains tend to prey on one another as well. If they're not attacking and instead performing reconnaissance … it means they aren't mindless."

 _And that is a very unpleasant thought._ Valerian had enough on his plate with the weather and mounting archaeologist casualties to worry about intelligent zerg. Still, they had guns and the marines to use them. As far as the ride out to the temple was concerned, it just meant that the rascals had something to shoot at.

"How many you looking to bag today?" asked Valerian, climbing aboard the covered back of the truck and squeezing past the marine with a bright smiley face covering his face plate. The visor shot up, unleashing a billow cloud of smoke. The woman underneath smiled at him mildly.

"Seven," she said. "Got a bet going with the guy ridin' shotgun."

"I wish you luck," said Valerian, inclining his head in her direction. Starke sat next to him, clanking slightly as he sat. _I wish he would be less evasive when I ask how armed he is at any given time._

"Making more friends with the resocs, Valerian?" Starke smiled widely underneath the rain cap. "I'm pretty sure I remember you calling resocialization a, what was it? A "vile process?""

"I didn't know," said Valerian, watching the armored back of the now prone marine as she lay her enormous rifle against the lip of the truck's end. "What can you see?"

"Murdered her children," said Starke mildly. "Twins. Case of postpartum depression that developed into psychosis – I can still see these, ah, hard to describe, long blue and red streaks in her head. She did it with a shard of glass. Cut herself afterwards-"

"Stop," said Valerian. Starke raised an eyebrow, the hair disappearing underneath his hat.

"She needed mental help, and the Dominion was happy to provide," said Starke. "For what it's worth, she's much happier now. Thoughts all fuzzy … covered in chocolate."

"Jesus," muttered Valerian, turning away from the ghost and staring straight forward at the rumbling side of the truck. The rain beat away against the overhead campus, a bunch of fingers tapping away against the truck like a child on a tin drum. _No. Probably best not to think of children right now._ The marine shifted in her place. The gun blared twice, a shrill popping amidst the rolling thunder. She gave no sign of having heard anything Valerian or Starke had said. She just looked back, that mild smile on her face, flashing two upraised middle fingers. _God help you, I hope you get your remaining five. Let one thing at least go right in your life._

Valerian had originally planned to keep an eye out for the zerg that his teams mentioned at every available opportunity, but he found himself having a hard time looking in the direction of the marine. So he just waited, wincing at every crack of thunder, every bump in the road, every burst of gunfire.

"Eight!" called back the marine. "Even scored myself a hydralisk. Let's see you top _that_ , Jensen."

"He already has," muttered Starke. Valerian, head throbbing, buried his face in his hands. _Feel nauseous. All it took was one sad story._ _Wonder what Father would say to this? Even he can't approve that strongly of penal conscription._ _Does the Council know? Heh. Plenty of questions to ask him when I return._

"Do you remember your time with the Confederacy, Devon?" Valerian coughed into his hand before looking to his bodyguard. "Your thoughts … were they chocolate covered?"

"It was a little different," said Starke, turning away slightly, one outline of a knife hilt now visible underneath the jacket. "Neural resocialization has to be more refined for psionics. It was like … sleepwalking, I suppose. I dreamt of things that had happened before, only catching brief glimpses of my bloodied hands, stray snatches of thought from crowds." He shrugged. "Someone else was manning the controls, so to speak. Not me. Sometimes I wonder how he acted, whether we would have got along." Starke twitched his head. "I suppose he acted however his handlers told him to. Ah. We done with this?"

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," said Valerian. "Thank you."

The drive went on in relative silence. The marine hooted with each fresh burst of gunfire, her killcount climbing far higher than her initial estimate. Valerian thought back to better times, to Umoja and how exciting the thunderstorms had seemed there. _Safe inside with Mother, the lakes churning underneath the darkened clouds. Couldn't really conceive how such weather could be threatening. It just seemed wild. Exciting._ The canvas billowed around him, the wind slipping through the gaps and making his ponytail whip against his face. He held it down with sodden fingers. The night, if possible, grew even darker.

"We're stopping," said Starke, sitting up abruptly in his chair. His fingers rapped against the metal seat, one at a time, four times in succession. "We're in sight."

The truck, at long last, began to slow. _Ride has gone on for too long._ The vehicle came to a shuddering halt, and Valerian almost leapt from his seat in his desire to leave. Unfortunately, he had to wait for the marine to rise awkwardly and exit first, her gun's laser sight shining brightly in the darkness.

"Nailed sixteen of them suckers," she called out to the front of the truck. "Three 'lisks. Whatcha got?" Valerian lowered himself from the truck and tried to suppress a groan as his mud-encrusted boots sank into the filth once more. Valerian turned in place, edging around the side of the truck with the lightest footsteps he could manage.

"Thirteen, two 'lisks," came the husky voice of Jensen, the other marine, before spitting. Valerian could only see the man's bulky silhouette, but he knew what he had heard. "Docile little fucks, aren't they?"

"Temple, please," said Valerian, standing side by side with the female marine. "The team's waiting." He looked over to the driver's window. "You can stay here. Try to keep warm." Valerian motioned for his team to follow him. Slowly, far more slowly than he would have liked, the four of them trudged through the sucking soil and made for the pyramidal silhouette before them. _At long last. To walk in one of these temples…_

It took them ten minutes to make the journey. They walked single file, muttering complaints to one another as the temple loomed larger and larger in their line of vision. Light shone from the only visible entrance ahead, heralding dryness and warmth. Valerian and his entourage picked up the pace.

"Hoped you would show up soon," came an anxious voice as they approached the entrance. They didn't stop after he spoke, instead opting to rush for the entrance and stand beneath the lip of the threshold. The air immediately felt much warmer. _Might be psychological._

"Sorry," he said, turning toward the beleaguered looking fellow who had greeted them. He walked up to the sodden man and they exchanged the most limp-wristed handshake Valerian had ever experienced. "Dr. Rider, right?"

The man nodded, offering a thin-lipped smile. "Valerian Mengsk. Thanks for the funding; I'd say it's about to pay off."

"You owe me nothing," said Valerian, waving him off. "These conditions are abysmal. Once we've breached the inner chamber, I will see you off this planet and into retirement. Your sacrifices demand nothing less."

"Er, thank you," said Rider, brow furrowed. "That's … very kind. Ah, care to see the fruits of our labor?" He gestured into the darkness.

"I think that would be appropriate," replied Valerian. Rider smiled, producing a small flashlight from a thick jacket pocket. He turned it on and beckoned them further into the temple proper.

 _Now this is pitch blackness._ The cone of light wavered and shifted in Rider's arms, casting every shadow into sharp relief. Beyond the limited line of vision Valerian possessed, there was only oppressive darkness.

"Note the inscriptions on the walls," said Rider as they progressed, looking back at Valerian and ignoring his entourage. He flicked the light up at the ceiling, where long and elaborate symbols flared back in bright gold. "We have an asari with us, a xeno linguist who used to work at translating old prothean scripts. She hasn't managed to crack any of the text on the walls, but she's seen one word crop up over and over again close to the main chamber. I'll let her explain."

They walked together in silence for about a minute or so. And what a silence it was. Beyond the heavy thuds of the marine's footfalls and the soft squelch of everyone else's, Valerian could hear not a thing. _Through my life, have I ever heard anything like this? Always there was the roar of ships and cars in the distance, the chatter of crowds. Even Father at his most dedicated of political rallies could not command silence such as this._

 _This is the song of tombs._

The song of tombs began to ebb away, however, as the tunnel wound toward the center. Soft echoes ricocheted off the embossed walls; they finally approached the only other living things in the temple. _Or tomb. They called it a temple, but this … it does not strike me as one._

Two more archaeologists waited for them at the termination of the passageway, their thin frames casting sticklike shadows against the mighty door before them. Two heavy duty lamps lay on the floor next to them, the only light this place had seen in millennia.

The walls and ceiling gave way to a wide antechamber, its edges hidden in darkness. Valerian craned his neck, marveling at the vast amount of empty space above him, most of it obscured in the smothering black.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Rider chuckled. "No offense, Prince Valerian, but you couldn't force me into retirement if you tried. I live for this." He brandished his arms. "You can't buy this kind of experience."

"I hope I did not offend you," murmured Valerian, gazing up at the inky expanse, his eyes finally sliding to the glimmering pictograms on the door and the walls surrounding it. "This is new to me."

"Can't say this is exactly old to us, neither," grunted one of the archaeologists before turning to Valerian. He could not help but feel a flush when she revealed herself to be an asari. _Hah. In an alien's presence without father's supervision._ _It is … thrilling._ She extended a hand. "Hermia Korpalus, xeno linguist."

"Valerian Mengsk," said Valerian, exchanging a firm handshake and purposefully leaving off his own title of crown prince. "Dr. Rider mentioned you had an interesting find."

Hermia shrugged. "Interesting isn't the same as relevant, and for all I know it might be a coincidence." She gave Valerian a lopsided smile. "It would be one hell of a coincidence, though. Come."

Valerian followed the asari up close to the door. At this distance, the images upon it became far easier to see, if still difficult to make sense of. Great blotches of a black metal stood out against the violets, golds, and aquas of the embedded gems and crystals that laced the door's surface. His fingers ran along the smooth surface, marveling at the near absence of friction. It was only when Hermia cleared her throat that he joined her on the floor.

"See here?" Hermia pointed a long blue finger at a patch of script close to the hinge. "And there?" She pointed a bit further up, past the pictogram of some kind of ferocious looking squid. "Further up? There again. Same phrase, and the damndest thing is that I have seen it before. On Feros."

"In a prothean ruin?" Valerian rubbed his chin, feeling the bristles. _Must shave later. Also, she has done a hell of a job picking up on terran lingo. I suppose it makes sense given her profession._ "The exact same? What does it mean?"

"The exact same," confirmed Hermia, staring at the pictogram. "I mean these squid guys are new, but I know this phrase. My dissertation was on it, for Goddess's sake. "Amon." Means angel, or about as close a definition as I can get." She shrugged. "There have been arguments for different definitions, but they're all for other abstract concepts. "Avatar." "Devil." "He who watches," that was a good one. Point is, I've seen it before and it was written the same way. That's all I've got so far."

"How about the "squid guys?" asked Valerian, looking around and seeing the damn things everywhere he looked. For some reason, they triggered a vague sense of familiarity in Valerian. _Hold on to that sensation. It will lead to epiphany if it lingers long enough._

"Eh, if there's a word for "devil" in this temple, it probably attributes to them," said Hermia, wrinkling her nose at the closest image. Valerian peered closer. _Looks like some kind of trilobite. Cuttlefish maybe?_ Valerian furrowed his brow at the rising sense of déjà vu.

"There's also this little guy," said Hermia, grabbing the lamp and moving away from the door. Valerian followed, and she stopped before the picture of some bipedal figure in ornate armor. Its face, curiously enough, had been wiped away, the metal and stone melted and chipped. "No idea what the hell he's supposed to be, but "Amon" crops up like six more times around him. Also, strangely enough, I couldn't find any more pictograms like it, even checking around the entire chamber's edge. Every other phrase and picture repeats except for him."

"Hmm." Valerian stared closely. He felt no sense of familiarity for the blurred figure. _Probably irrelevant, then. Might be more pictures of him inside._ "How about the door? Any progress?"

"Refuses to budge to diamond drills and the few laser we've managed to bring in here," said Hermia. "You'll want to talk to Dr. Cameron about that. Opening doors is not really my specialty."

Dr. Cameron, the only researcher Valerian had not stopped to talk to yet, leaned against the door with a kind of casual contempt, ignoring it in favor of chatting to Starke. The two of them stopped at his approach, inclining their heads when he stopped before them.

"While this chamber is magnificent and I thank you for getting this far, I really would like to know what our progress on the door is," said Valerian. Dr. Cameron sighed, flashing a quick look at Starke before rapping the door.

"It's made of bullshitium, Prince Valerian," said Cameron. "I've been at other ruin sites, and I've never seen anything like this. Tunneling through the outer door, that was easy enough. Slow and tiresome, but there was always at least a steady amount of progress." She rapped the door again, dark hair bouncing against her neck. "This? We applied a drill to it for six hours and did not make even a hint of a dent. I'm thinking we might have to dig in from the roof, and fuck me I do _not_ fancy doing that in this weather."

"They just sealed it? With no means of opening it?" Valerian shook his head, sodden ponytail spraying droplets in every direction. "If they wanted to do that, the door would just be a wall. Is there any indication that this door has been opened before? If it is as thick as you say, it has to be heavy. It would have left some kind of mark."

"Sure, if it opened outwards," said Cameron, sniffing. "I don't think that's the case."

"Valerian," said Starke, voice low, "do you hear anything?"

"People are talking, if that's what you mean," said Valerian, squinting at Starke's flickering visage. "Do _you_ hear something?"

"I tried to project myself beyond the door," said Starke, his voice slow and ponderous, as if he were entranced. "I can hear … bubbling. I can feel … heat. But … all I can see is darkness."

"What's his problem?" asked Cameron, jerking a thumb at Valerian's hypnotized manservant.

"He's a ghost," said Valerian, following Starke's line of sight to the center of the door. "Six on the scale, barely. Still, pretty sensitive."

"A spook?" Cameron shook her head. "Always the cute ones." _Really? You know he's balding under that ridiculous cap._ Valerian rolled his eyes. _Women. I should probably talk to Father about women. For ruling purposes._

Starke took a drunken step forward. Valerian folded his arms, watching the ghost intently. Starke muttered to himself incoherently before pawing at his face. The two marines, previously content to lounge at the edges of the light, now took up either side of Valerian.

"Something wrong with your friend, sir?" asked Jensen, his laser sight playing dangerously close to Starke's legs. Valerian pressed down on the barrel irritably, forcing it away.

"Let it happen," said Valerian. "Let us see if the mind can unlock what brute force could not."

Starke, face contorting with effort, took two more unsteady steps forward. He panted, entire body tensed as he became apparently rooted to the floor.

"Valerian," he said through gritted teeth. "I … don't want to open that door."

"So you _can_ open it?" asked Valerian, clucking his tongue. "Starke … we need it open." _For science. Obviously. Starke, I know you can hear me._

"Valerian," he moaned, shuffling forward another four more steps, arm outstretched towards the door. "This door … it's reaching out."

"Good, friendly contact," said Valerian, feeling a slight tendril of fear creeping through his spine regardless. "Starke, please. What could possibly be in here that could harm us? Anything alive is long dead, and we'll be checking for traps. Will the door explode if you open it?"

"You will wish it had. I'm sorry." Starke shuddered and stiffened. When he walked to the door, it was with a calm collectedness. His palm now glowed with soft light, and he pressed it against the center of the door, the eldritch light reflecting oddly against his violently yellow slicker.

"Open sesame," said Valerian. The temple, tomb, whatever it was began to rumble. The door, with a great grinding shudder, began to peel back, the adorned symbols glowing a vibrant orange. The two marines readied their weapons, the laser sights shifting through the black. The doors continued to retreat before coming to a ponderous halt, the hinges clanking as they stopped. Starke stood there, facing the darkness, hand still outstretched. Hermia lifted one of the lanterns, exposing more of the floor inside the chamber beyond but nothing more. Valerian jerked his head to his companions. "Forward."

They advanced, stopping by Starke in an attempt to shake him awake. When he snapped out of it, eyes losing their glaze while the light faded from his palms, he began to shake.

"Don't go in," he said. "I can't tell you why – but it's bad. Protoss maybe? Only…" He stared into the dark, wide-eyed. "I know what protoss feel like. There is something alive in there, Valerian, and I am telling you it is not something we've seen before."

"Tread lightly, friends," cautioned Valerian, taking Starke's clammy hand and leading him forward as if he were a child. "If there is something alive here … let's not wake it up."

Starke trailed behind Valerian in a daze, hands slipping against his boss's due to the sweat. They walked into the darkness together, flanked by the two completely undeterred marines. The squid pictograms no longer shone against the floor and walls. In fact … everything was bare.

"We're in the center," said Dr. Rider, shining his own lantern up, up, up against the unseen top of the structure. "If this is a tomb … we should be finding a body pretty soon."

"There," said Starke, pointing past Valerian to the right. The two lanterns shone up, the marine laser sights dancing. Pale blue light reflected back.

"What in God's name?" Valerian craned his neck back again, feeling the water running down his neck. A great aqua tube or tank, filled with bubbling liquid, stood inexplicably before them. The light glinted off the tube's iridescent surface. Something shifted within, a great shadow.

"Looks like a stasis tank," said the woman marine. _Her name. Did they take her name too? Should I ask?_ "Big, though. What is that, twenty feet?"

"At least," said Jensen, spitting again and instantly drawing the ire of every archaeologist around him.

"Stop that!" Dr. Rider stepped forward, brandishing a finger. "No spitting. And whatever you do, for the love of God, do _not_ fire those weapons."

"Starke?" Valerian shook the slack-jawed ghost's shoulder. "Starke?"

"Can you hear it, Valerian?" Starke stared at the tank, eyes half open, mouth agape. "I can hear the noise stars make as they burn. The skittering of eons. Oh…" He lifted his palm, the energy shining forth once again.

"Starke?" Valerian snatched Starke's wrist, trying to force it down to no avail. "Starke? Devon!"

A tapping echoed through the still and empty air, clear and repetitive. Valerian shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. He turned slowly, facing the tank. The shadow of a hand pressed against the edge.

"My word," said Dr. Rider. "This is … this is…"

"Run." Starke's voice cracked like a whip. "Valerian – all of you – run. Run NOW!"

Valerian's legs trembled, but he could not turn back now. _I … I am the son of an emperor, and an aspiring scientist besides. What does it say about me if I flee? That I place fear over curiosity? That I am ruled by base emotions?_

 _ **IT SAYS THAT YOU ARE SENSIBLE.**_ Valerian's head pounded at the force of Starke's message. He took one step back. Then another. The marines stood before him, rifles at their shoulders, sights trained on the hand inside the tank. Another outline joined it, pressing against the barrier with a thud.

"They opened inward," groaned Dr. Cameron. "Valerian, the doors were not meant to keep us ou-"

The tank cracked like the thunder that raged outside, widening quickly. Putrid viscous liquid shot forth from the crack, first with a high pitched whine … then with a low groan.

"We leave," said Valerian, backing away with the others. "We leave now!" The marines turned on their heels, leaving Starke to stare at the tank. _I'm sorry._ Looking back one last time at his paralyzed friend, his heart froze at the sight of two great glowing eyes staring back from the tank. Time slowed … and the glass burst.

Valerian turned, sprinting to catch up with the dying light of the lantern as the scientists retreated while something thudded against the temple floor, something wet and enormous and heavy. The marines waited for him, pausing until he caught up and turning on the lights of their suits.

"We'll carry you if we have to," grunted the woman. "Come on!"

They passed the threshold of the doors, the metal boots of the marines clanking against the floor. From behind them came a scream, low in pitch before climbing horribly high. Valerian resisted the urge to cover his ears, forcing his arms to continue pumping instead. Low footfalls echoed through the once still chambers.

Jensen breathed a curse word, having slowed to look behind. "Ain't no way someone on foot's gonna outrun that thing. Helen, grab the emperor and high-tail it out of here. Don't stop for the scientists. Hope it likes a taste of pepper with its meals."

"What? You can't-" Valerian's protests fell on deaf ears as he was hoisted into the air by the female marine, lain across the massive shoulders of her armor. _Helen. A good mother's name._

"I'm gonna go down historic," said Jensen, loading a grenade into the underside of his gun. "Get outta here."

Valerian, held in place by the steady hand of Helen, watched the surroundings darken and blur as they left Jensen behind, cackling with a rifle cradled in his arms.

A minute later, a muffled bang echoed down the shifting corridor, a brief flare illuminating the black. A series of erratic pops followed it. Then came the scream. _I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. This is my damn doing._

"Stop for the doctors," said Valerian, pleading. "Please."

"Who's the heir apparent again?" asked Helen. "No can do. We are outta this place."

Valerian struggled to no avail. He shut his eyes once the doctor's voices could be heard. Despite himself, tears streamed down his cheeks as the panting gasps turned to muffled begging. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

"There's the outside," grunted Helen. "Now, we are drivin' you out and then shuttlin' you off."

Helen burst from the temple entrance, rain showering Valerian as a peal of thunder boomed overhead.

"There's the truck!" Helen let Valerian slide off her back, and he landed with a hearty squelch. She took his hand and pulled it gently, tugging him towards safety. He couldn't tear his gaze from the blackness of the temple. "Driver! Driver!" The thunder crackled again, and the air began to … hiss. _Hiss?_

"Oh, _fuck_ me," mumbled Helen, letting go of Valerian's arm and bringing her rifle to bear, swiveling it about. Valerian, dizzy and breathless, followed the laser sight as best he could.

Dark imposing silhouettes glistened in the wet. Large, reptilian, and bearing a set of ferocious talons, Valerian knew hydralisks when he saw them. Milling between them, circling Helen and himself, were countless zerglings, their high-pitched cries making Valerian's head pound.

"I can see the driver," said Helen quietly, not looking at Valerian in favor of keeping her gaze focused on the hissing mass before her. "He's not looking so well. You know how to drive?"

"I – of – of course." Valerian struggled to breath. He tore his eyes away from the glowing pupils of a hydralisk to check the temple entrance. It shone with a horrible blue radiance. "Helen?"

"On the count of three, you run like hell," said Helen. "It's the best I can do."

 _Is it heroism if brainwashing made you do it?_ Valerian's eyes swiveled to the distant gleaming headlights of the truck. "Helen?"

"THREE!" Helen screamed, firing wildly into the horde. Valerian sprinted forward, feet slipping in the muck, head ringing from the noise and the sights and the rain and _the fact that this is my fault._ He couldn't look back. Coughing gauss fire ripped through the skies as he ran, stopping far too quickly for him to feel anything other than mounting horror. A bang followed it, a flash of orange entering his line of vision from the sides. His feet, pounding away at the soil, slid at a sudden patch of slick mud. _No. NO!_

Valerian fell, spinning through the air and landing on his back. The wind knocked out of him, he lay there, paralyzed with fear, with shame, and with resignation. _I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry._

He rolled on to his front, face numb, tears mixing with the rain. The zerg shadows bounded in every direction, hydralisks, zerglings …

A shifting bipedal shadow.

 _Infested? Terran maybe?_ Valerian's ragged breath caught in his throat. The figure was small and slight, but walked with purpose. Strange appendages protruded from its back, long and strewn with spines. They spread like a fan, making the silhouette appear monstrous. _They're facing the temple. They're moving away from me._

The temple, now alight with energies, erupted with a sudden surge of force, the metal stone giving way to a burst of violence. There, misshapen head rising high in the night's sky, lay the face of Valerian's foe.

 _It looks … like a protoss. Too big, though. And no protoss has a head shaped like that._

The creature _howled_ , and the zerg responded in kind, shrieking and crying, raging against _something_. _Will they fight?_

"Yield," called out the figure. _A woman._ Her voice shifted and echoed within itself, making the hair on the back of Valerian's neck stand up on end.

 _ **TOO EARLY.**_

The creature tossed and turned its head, surveying its surroundings. _**ZERG.**_ _**ASARI.**_

 _ **FEED.**_

 _Asari?_

The creature howled again, and this time it charged, running down the slope with energy alive in its arms. _Four arms._ The zerg shifted around it, surrounding the being as it made directly for the defiant figure who called for it to yield.

The appendages began to flick back and forth, too fast for Valerian's eye to follow. The being howled, the flare of psionic shielding erupting with every unseen impact. The figure shone with blue light, arms alive with energy.

 _Truck._ Part of Valerian tried desperately to restore reason and action to his body. _Get to the truck._ Valerian brought a foot up and pushed against the ground, only to pathetically slide in place. He lay there, miserable and resigned.

The infested one and the being collided in a shower of sparks. Even in the horrid conditions, even at the great distance, Valerian caught a horrid whiff of ozone that made him gag. When he looked back up, the two had broken away again. The being raised a massive glowing arm, a globe of energy forming in its hands. The creature grunted and flinched as the infested asari, if that was indeed what it was, continued hurling projectiles from the appendages, one punching neatly through the eye. The beam shot forth, meeting the asari.

She held it there neatly, legs splayed against the ground, sliding against the muck, but arms held straight, resisting the stream of light. The ozone smell intensified, and Valerian could no longer resist the urge to vomit. He bent his head down, choking on the fluids. When he looked up, the being and the asari were locked still, but now zerg crawled all over the being's body.

With the other free hand it swatted away zerglings, blocked the quills of hydralisks with its wrist, and slapped the ground to crush others. It was no use. The beam shifted back in his direction, repulsed by the bipedal zerg.

With a deafening, echoing cry, the asari stepped forward, slamming her palms against the air. The beam shot backward, striking the infernal protoss abomination in the face. _Yes. Hah._ It shook, head smoking, body filling with glowing orange cracks, the sense of fury replaced with confusion and _fear._ _Die. DIE!_

Its face shattered, showering the surrounding muck and vegetation with purple fluid and steaming embers. The rest of the creature's body collapsed, smoking heavily. Valerian, alone and terrified, could not help but feel a lingering sense of relief. Of satisfaction. _Of hope. Heh._ He looked up. The asari stood before him, foot planted firmly in front of his face.

"Terran," she said, glowing blue eyes scanning his face. "Archaeologist?" Valerian felt a mild pinch in his brain. "Stumbled on to something greater. Left with blessing of father." Her face contorted. "That must have been nice."

"What?" Valerian gasped, rolling away from her armored foot, only to feel a heavy pressure against his chest. _Held in place._

"You'll warn others," she said. "I'm so sorry." She stepped over his body, straddling him, a glowing fist raised.

"No," he said, head twitching. "My father, no you don't understand-"

The asari paused, fist poised in the air. A flash of light illuminated her face contorting with emotion. _Freckles. A zerg with freckles._

"You look familiar." Valerian breathed as the asari cocked her head. "I've seen you before. Crown Prince."

"You need to let me go," said Valerian, drool running down his face. "If you kill me, the Dominion collapses into infighting. Read my mind, I know you can."

"Valerian Mengsk," mused the asari, lowering her fist. "You're a long way from home."

"I wanted to see the ruins," said Valerian, voice cracking. "It all went _so_ wrong! What was that thing?"

"I don't know," said the asari before cocking her head once more. "I can't let you go, Valerian."

"Then make it quick." Valerian held his breath, leaning his head back against the mud despite himself. _It shouldn't hurt, right? Just … straight through the brain._

"Killing you … would be a mistake." The asari stepped away. "The Dominion, vile as it is, cannot fall. The terrans have suffered enough. And if what we just saw is a portent, there is so much more suffering to come." She stared down at him, eyes shining in the dark. "And besides. I could use someone who has studied prothean and inusannon texts."

"Wha-" Valerian coughed as the asari lifted him effortlessly from the ground without touching him.

"We're leaving," said the asari, not just to him but all of the critters surrounding them. "This planet contains too many surprises for my taste. And I don't want any more bloodshed."

The horizon shifted. From the heavens descended a massive maw of flesh and teeth, landing with a thunderous crash upon the hillside. Valerian, suspended in place, twitched and shook as the asari held him in tow. A drop of drool landed on his head on the way in. _No. This cannot be happening._

She led him down, down into the gullet of the leviathan. Valerian silently pleaded with the asari to let him free, to show mercy.

"I have already shown you mercy," she replied. They descended further down the winding throat.

The asari stopped suddenly, pulling Valerian ahead of her.

"You can use these as quarters," she said, pointing to the rusted remnants of a very old eezo based cargo hauler. "I used to sleep in it, before becoming more comfortable with the leviathan. Do not leave this chamber, Valerian Mengsk. My control over my brood grows tenuous in the presence of such soft flesh." She dropped Valerian, and he landed sprawled against the moist ground.

"Do you see that corner over there?" she asked him, pointing to a discolored patch of leviathan floor. "Please … leave it be. It used to be the home of a … very dear friend."

"You're insane," coughed Valerian, standing with difficulty. "You cannot possib-" He paused, grabbing his throat, trying to pry off the unseen force that now held it in a vice grip.

"You talked me into letting you live, Valerian," said the asari, teeth gritted. "Take care that you do not talk me out of it." The pressure fell away and Valerian collapsed again, utterly defeated.

"Okay," he gasped, staring up at the cavernous ceiling, eyes almost rolling the back of his head. "Okay." He pushed himself up once more, steadying himself against … _a tooth? What is that?_

"I will have to devise a means of feeding you," said the asari slowly. "Wait here. I must meet with Abathur. Then … then we will talk. Stay put, terran."

She turned on her heel and began to leave, disappearing back up the way they had come.

"Wait!" Valerian's cry echoed through the leviathan's innards, making the asari pause. "Who are you?"

The asari stiffened. She looked back slowly, burning eyes locking with Valerian's before softening.

"I was … I am Liara T'soni," she said. "I _am_ sorry about this, Valerian. But this is the best I can do."

"Then I shall do the best I can do," said Valerian, trying to restore some semblance of control in his wheezing, high pitched voice. "I shall not move from this spot, Liara."

Liara smiled. "Good. That's what I want to hear. Now … I will be back."

Liara left, leaving Valerian alone in the bubbling, shifting interior of the leviathan's guts. _The ship. I think I'll stay in the ship._

Valerian stepped into the damp rusted interior of the ship, mind racing with images, sounds, feelings. _Starke. Helen. Jensen. Cameron. Rider. Hermia. Dead. All dead._

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, leaning against the rusted interior of the ship. "This isn't what I asked for."

 _Valerian Mengsk,_ rang Liara's voice in his head, _I can entirely sympathize._

It didn't help very much.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tychus**


	14. We Lesser Men

**Tychus**

"Enjoy Omega, big guy?" The hairy dwarf that Jim called "Swann" tapped Tychus's wrist once, trying to make sure the omnitool was secure. "Can't stand the place myself. Reminds me too much of the KM's means of doin' business, what that does to the little guys."

"And you'd know all about bein' a little guy, I'd take it," grunted Tychus, turning his wrist and surveying it. The small device gleamed faintly in Bay 12's harsh light, two barely visible wires running down his arm. He grinned savagely down at Swann, who laughed.

"You wanna arm wrestle again?" he asked, rolling up the sleeve of his good arm with the claw on the other. "I'm ready to go, big guy. You promise not to scream this time?"

Tychus stared at the thick muscles standing against the man's jumpsuit. _Damn dwarf is grotesquely muscular. It ain't right, I'm supposed to be the one who can't fit through doors._

"My masculinity's taken enough beatings this week," growled Tychus, clenching his fist and watching the tendons stand out against his skin. He considered elaborating on what had happened back on Omega, but frankly he had nothing to say to anyone who wasn't a therapist, a gorgeous woman, or all of the above. _Christ, Jimmy, never thought I'd see the day you would use a friend of yours as live bait._

"Huh, you meet Aria?" Swann whistled. "That woman can castrate a man with her eyeballs. No, seriously, I've seen it happen. 'Nother reason to hate Omega. You get on her wrong side, they toss you out an airlock. Then the vorcha snag your corpse." Swann smiled widely. "You see any of those during your little trip?"

"What? The little guys clingin' on the edges, glarin' at passersby while chewin' on severed arms?" said Tychus idly, sending a thought to his arm. The omnitool lit up in bright orange, making him nod in satisfaction. "They ain't too bad. Definitely not the scariest thing on Omega." _That title is currently bein' fought for by that krogan, Aria … and Jim. Woulda put Morinth in the runnin' if I hadn't seen her brain splattered against the carpet._ "Now, what exactly can this thing do?"

"Name it," said Swann, activating his own and extending his now glowing pincer arm before Tychus. "What you got there is a genuine military grade omnitool, Eden Prime edition. Made by terrans and for terrans. You can reinforce CMC armor…" Swann shut off the tool and began counting off his fingers. "…you can produce incineration rounds, cryo rounds, overload enemy defenses. It can produce and deploy turrets." Swann stopped at five fingers, wiggling them and glancing at his mechanical pincer arm. "Looks like I'm outta digits, big guy. So lemme just…" He brought up his omnitool again, tapping a few keys into it with his good hand. A display of two more hands with curled fingers shot out from the device. "It hacks computers, it stores information, it logs into the extranet…" Holographic uncurled with each listing. "It lets you video conference, it can be used for welding, it allows for fast application of minor pharmaceuticals and painkillers – yes, big guy, that includes stims – it can construct drones, kickass bayonets, and combat shields. It can set itself on fire - ah, shit, I'm outta fingers again." Swann tapped a few more keys, producing another pair of hands.

"Ah, I think I'm sold on these things," said Tychus, lips twitching. "Can I have one on the other arm?" He extended said arm, hopeful.

"'No can do, big guy." Swann deactivated his display and clapped Tychus on the side. _'Bout as high as he can reach._ "You need one hand to work the settings, the other to carry the tool. One's all you need, you're not a hanar. Oh, and you need a bit of know how to access some of them higher functions, like the tech armor. Most of the other shit's pretty simple, though. If you want, I can sit you down and try and run through some of the more advanced shit. Think you'd like that?"

"Ain't the worst idea in the world," said Tychus, staring at the vibrant device on his wrist. He clenched his fist again, watched the light die. "Might take you up on that."

"You'll need a good memory and some steady nerves to work some of the more advanced settings in battle, just fair warnin'," said Swann. "Oh, and the omnitool will also link up with your suit and appear over your arm, sized up so you don't press a bunch of functions at once with a finger. Speakin' of, got a surprise for ya."

Swann leaned over to a nearby console, grabbing the microphone with his good arm. "Hey! Kachinsky! Send that new project up! Shake a leg now, almost time for chow!" Swann looked back at Tychus, as smug look on his face. He leaned back against the console, arms folded. "Worked on this one myself."

Kachinsky, a beleaguered looking man in a yellow cap, dragged a hovering platform up from the shuttle bay below, huffing all the way. A flimsy rag covered whatever stood upon the platform, shrouding its eight foot tall badness from sight. _I'll never guess what's underneath. 'Specially given the metal boots pokin' out from the bottom._

"Gentlemen, behold!" Swann pushed Kachinsky aside and ripped the shroud from the platform. "The battlesuit built to protect the newest, scrawniest addition to Raynor's Raiders!"

 _Hell. It's about time. Wait – what'd you call me you goddamn midget?_

Tychus could not focus on his indignation for very long. The magnificence that lay before him deserved all the attention, not just from him, but from every living creature. _It'll be good to get inside a CMC suit again. What model they on these days, I wonder?_

The blue suit towered over him, the fresh paint all shiny and smooth. _And ripe for me to paint some nekkid ladies on._ The armor and plating appeared thicker than from what Tychus remembered. _Ain't about to object to a bit of extra protection._

"Not bad," said Tychus. "Codpiece don't do me justice, though." He rapped the codpiece with a single hairy knuckle, frowning as it came away blue.

"Is that so?" Swann guffawed and slapped his knee. "You know big guy, you can't arm wrestle for shit, but you're alright. Why don't you come up to the mess hall with me and Kachinsky? We'll find some nice fruity drinks for your delicate self."

"I will match you drink for drink on the hardest shit this ship's got, short stuff," growled Tychus, trying to ignore the lingering sense of pressure behind his eyes from the shenanigans two nights ago. "Ol' Tychus has an iron belly and a liver that has seen things you will not believe."

They left the suit where it was, abandoning it where it stood. _Not like anyone's gonna steal the damn thing._

"Jim told either of you two just why we're stopped on this rock?" Tychus asked.

"Not a thing," said Swann. "Not complainin', though. Hate workin' in KM space – always lookin' over my shoulder to make sure I'm not turnin' my back on some mercenary hotshot who fancies collectin' on a bounty … or whose employer just told him to stab us in the back."

"It's more likely than you'd think," said Kachinsky, nodding. "Jim's taken us in there a few times now to help out an old buddy of his. I swear, the people you end up rubbin' shoulders with – worse than the Dominion. Worse by a long shot."

"KM's ain't been feedin' any planets to the zerg," said Swann, voice mild. "But yeah, speakin' as a guy who lost his arm to their greed, I ain't a fan."

"I did check some news feeds from the Council," said Kachinsky as they rounded the corner, mess hall door now in view, "Dominion's all riled up for some reason – something's happening around, uh, that ice ball world. Can't remember. Oh, and the protoss finally decided to show up on the Citadel. Got about five feet and then there was a turian terrorist attack."

"Six years out from that business, and people are still throwin' shit fits." Swann snorted. "Sure, attack the gents who like annihilatin' entire flotillas at a time when they're mildly irritated. See how that goes for ya."

They entered the mess hall together. Previously, Tychus had been quite happy to sit on his lonesome, leering at any womenfolk he chanced upon to see, but this time he planted his steaming heap of gruel right next to Swann's. _At an already occupied table no less._

"Swann, Kachinsky, Findlay," said Declan, nodding. His own meal did not steam and looked to Tychus like a few haunches of meat covered in a sticky crimson. When the batarian tucked in, it was to a chorus of slurping, sucking, and then cracking as his teeth broke through the bones. _Yep. I am in the presence of aliens alright._ Tychus looked away, trying to suppress a burp and quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach. _Hell, you met folks back in the armed forces with worse manners and stranger eatin' habits than that. Grow up._

His own bowl consisted of a creamy soup, one that Tychus had difficulty keeping down. _Cryogenics really doin' a number on me._ _I don't think that little drinkin' spree was a good idea, in retrospect._ His stomach rumbled and groaned at the richness while his throat caught fire. He settled for frequently excusing himself for additional glasses of water and only eating his soup by proxy, soaking his bread in it.

"If you don't finish it, I'll eat it," said Swann, grinning. "Doesn't bode too well for you matchin' me drink for drink though, does it big guy?"

"Gimme another few months and I'll be rippin' off people's heads with my bare hands," muttered Tychus, brushing a finger against his throat and avoiding eye contact. "Right now – not sure I could manage a kitten. Maybe a hamster." He looked up just in time to see two new people sitting down adjacent. "Heh. Didn't expect to see you two around here."

"Jack has agreed to make the attempt at being more social," said Trome, casting a dark glance at his scowling companion who now wore a loose brown shirt that was much too big for her. _Aw. Now I can only see the scalp tattoos._

"He wouldn't stop bothering me," said Jack by means of explanation before tucking in with disgusting enthusiasm. _Right. Worse eating habits than Declan._

"I don't suppose you've recovered from your ill-advised romp on Omega?" asked Trome, dipping a heel of bread into his steaming bowl. "I cannot say I approve of what Mr. Raynor did, even if half of what I heard about that Morinth is true." He sighed. "I tried to talk to him about it, but he shrugged me off. Said he had not done anything wrong. Over and over again, I find that there is no one more self-righteous and judgmental than the reformed criminal."

"Heh, but I ain't neither of those things," said Tychus, grinning.

"Oh? When did you reform?" Trome's words drew harsh laughter from Declan and a snort from Jack, but he paid them no mind. "In all seriousness – how do you feel? You suffered quite the ordeal."

"Tryin' not to focus on it," grunted Tychus while Kachinsky and Swann pretended not to listen. Jack didn't even bother with that pretense, instead staring at Tychus with narrowed eyes. "Didn't do wonders for my stomach – the drinkin', I mean. Guess the, ah, event towards the end wasn't great neither."

"Mind filling me in?" asked Jack before stuffing half of a slice of bread into her mouth, scattering crumbs across the table. She set it aside, chewing. "I mean, if you're going to drag me up here, God Botherer, I'd appreciate at least being able to participate in the conversation."

"Mr. Raynor set a trap for an Ardat-Yakshi, using our good Mr. Findlay here as bait," said Trome, making Swann and Kachinsky exchange worried glances. "The Ardat-Yakshi was killed rather gruesomely by the Justicar Raynor was working with – another old friend of his. Mr. Findlay was not aware of this."

"Any particular reason you know this, Trome?" asked Declan, arms folded against the table, eyes narrowed.

"People in leadership positions sometimes find the need to vent guilt, anxiety, and frustration at someone they know will listen," said Trome.

"Thought I heard you talking to somebody a day back." Jack nudged his ribs. "Raynor say anything else?"

"Raynor did not tell me," said Trome shortly, before nodding to someone behind Tychus. "Captain."

"Trome." Matt Horner sat two seats down from Tychus, next to Kachinksy. "Telling everyone about Jim's latest misadventure?"

"I find that feedback from multiple trusted sources has better results than a solitary attempt at making someone change their ways," said Trome, steepling his fingers. "A lone man – perhaps it is simple persecution. A vast outcry of friends making their opinions heard? Harder to dismiss – it's an intervention." He shrugged. "Or a mutiny."

"That's not a word I want to hear, ever," said Matt, jabbing a fork in Trome's direction. "We wouldn't be here without Jim. Jack, Tychus, he got you off _Purgatory_. Declan, no way would you have got out of the Exclusion Zone without him-"

"You're nervous and you only get properly nervous when either Jim's about to do something really stupid, or Mira Han's around," said Declan bluntly. "I haven't seen any women with vibrant pink hair walking around, so I guess Jim's about to do something really stupid."

"He's walking us back into KM space," said Matt, glancing at each person at the table. "Some of us might have a problem with that."

" _Some_ of us?" Jack rose, fists clenched. Everyone else at the table followed suit, staring at Jack as she glared at the Captain. "When was I getting told? Anyone bother to ask what those bastards did to me?"

"Frankly, darlin', I'm pretty sure everyone's scared shitless of you," said a firm voice from behind them. There he stood, hair greying, eyes sunken, but a warm smile playing on his lips. "Can't fault 'em for not wanting to piss you off and getting punched through the hull."

The entire mess hall had risen at this point, each crewman looking at Jack and then back at Jim, trying to figure out what would happen next. Tychus, for his part, backed away.

"Trome, you didn't tell her?" Jim didn't look at the chaplain, keeping his eyes on Jack.

"I thought our trip had been cancelled," said Trome, face turning gray. "We were supposed to jump two days ago. That was what I had been told."

"Just a failure to communicate then." Jim wiped his mouth. "Jack – we got good reasons to go, and you'll be safe on board this ship."

"You got any evidence of that?" Jack jabbed a finger in Jim's direction. "You let me walk. I'm not going back unless it's of my own damn accord."

"You wanna take a stroll on Omega?" Jim asked, voice hard. He stepped aside, gesturing. "Go for it. I ain't here to babysit you. Or, you can hear me out, I can put you in touch with some friends of mine who can explain to you, at length, what happens to unknown and friendless ghosts that show up in KM or Council space, and put you in touch with an organization dedicated to keeping folks like you safe. We can do that once you're done with dinner."

"Yeah?" Jack did not sound quite as certain as before. Tychus bit his lip. _Jim, all that stands between you and a snapped neck is your damned charisma, and shit, you don't look so healthy right now._ Jack's snarl faded, replaced by a pensive expression, eyes downcast. She looked up. "The … the minute I'm done with this soup, you hear me?"

"I hear you." Jim's eyes flicked to Trome, some unknown message passing between the two. _Hell, I'd be pissed at him._ "I'll be waitin'. Tychus, come here, please."

"Feel free to finish this, if you want," grunted Tychus, sliding his half-finished bowl over to Jack. "You seem hungry."

The two of them sat down at a forlorn two person table in the corner, far from the (admittedly tense) laughter at the main tables. Jim wiped his forehead off with his wrist as they sat down, expelling a long and steady stream of air.

"I gotta sell somethin' kinda difficult to the crew," said Jim. "Jack ain't gonna be the hardest. We did a few drops for the KMs a while back, lost some good folks. This time – this time we're goin' all the way. Dominion's gonna fall – KMs are gonna make the push … along with someone else. Not sure who they are."

"So it's gonna be the Guild Wars all over again, this time with us on the other side?" Tychus whistled. "Damn, partner, you thawed me out just for this?"

"Listen, about Omega…" Jim looked away. "…not how I want to treat you. Just needed to get that job done, and you were the only person we could think of who fit the bill to get Morinth's attention. I didn't free you just to put you into those kinds of scrapes."

"Seein' as you had me filled with enough liquor to knock a rhino on its ass, all is forgiven, partner," said Tychus, donning a lopsided grin. "Just … don't put me in that situation again, alright?"

"Seems unlikely." Jim drummed his fingers against the table. "Freein' you … it wasn't just about repayin' a debt. I needed someone to talk to, to offer a kind of … unfettered view on things. I think we're about to get ourselves in a hell of a mess, Tychus."

"We live to get ourselves in messes, partner," said Tychus, raising an imaginary glass. "And I'm here whenever you need me … provided you do the same."

"What – you got your own moments of doubt now?" Jim chuckled. "Not the Tychus I remember." He looked behind Tychus, checking over his shoulder. "Ah, shit. Time to go talk to those friends I mentioned – you're coming, by the way."

"Heh, all right." Tychus rose from his chair and followed the other two out of the room, leaving the clank and murmur of the mess hall behind.

"Thanks for the meal," muttered Jack to Tychus, making him grin.

"How much you know about Cerberus, darlin'?" asked Jim, looking back at Jack and quickly forcing the grin from Tychus's face. "Heard of 'em?"

"They're familiar, I think." Jack did not sound certain. "Might've been mentioned once or twice back at … the dark place … but mostly, all I heard about were the Archers. And the Hocks."

"Yeah, I know those guys." Jim did not sound terribly thrilled about knowing them. "If you don't mind – what exactly happened?"

"Drills, implants, syringes," said Jack mechanically. "Some type of gas, rubber gloves, a bunch of people talking about "reversing the scale" over and over. Don't know. All I have is fragmented memories and a body count."

"Well, we'll see if my _other_ good friend named Jack has any answers," said Jim, stopping before a thick set of double doors, punching in a code that seemed to Tychus like a dozen digits or more. "Cerberus – they work for the KMs, but they're ex-Confederate. Only side they could be said to be on is, well, not the Dominion's."

"And the KMs, seeing as they work for them," said Jack, voice hard. "Don't sugarcoat it. I am _inches_ away from leaving this shit heap."

"Believe me, no one wants that," said Tychus. _Tore apart one of them bird folks … turian. Seen too many aliens bein' torn apart lately._

The doors opened with a heavy hiss. Beyond them, some kind of conference room, the same terran woman from Omega waiting.

"Who's the girl?" she asked, accent rather unpleasantly making Tychus recall some of his superior officers from way back when.

"It's Jack," said Jack, stepping forward. "Who's this supposed to be?"

"Miranda Lawson," said the woman, folding her arms. "A go between for some important people." _Shit lady, watch yourself. Ain't too hard to read between the lines on that one, and you do_ not _want to piss Jack off._

"Important people die just the same as any other," said Jack sweetly. "Pirate lords, politicians-"

"Can we all just go about five minutes without tryin' to piss each other off?" Jim asked, stepping between the two of them. "Jack wants some answers on what the KMs did to her brain – she's a teek but apparently skipped out on bein' a teep. Not sure how that works. Okay? I'm just givin' her five minutes with Harper to ask some questions."

"Fine." Lawson looked Tychus up and down. "You're no prettier sober."

"Can't say the same here," said Tychus, looking Lawson up and down, leering. "What you say, when this is done, I take you out for a nice steak dinner?"

"I'd rather go out with the elcor," said Lawson, making Tychus laugh despite himself. _Gotta admire a woman who puts this much effort into bein' this outrageously unpleasant. Just keep on keepin' everyone at arm's length, girlie. I can't wait to find out what you're hidin'._

"He's waiting on the other end, Mr. Raynor," continued Lawson, ignoring Tychus's continued stare. "How do you want to approach this?"

"I'll go in first and introduce Jack," said Jim. "I believe he said he wanted privacy for Tychus. Then … guess we better break the news to the crew." Lawson stood to the side and tapped a few keys. A cage of glowing orange shone from a metal circle in the center of the room while the lights dimmed. Jim stepped through the cage, a small smile on his face. "Hey. Yeah, I brought Tychus. Lawson's doin' alright. Got someone I want you to meet. Says the KMs been messin' with her brain." He looked back. "Jack?"

She stepped into the light, blinking. Tychus watched her face carefully. Her eyes darted, scanning this "Harper" on the other end of the line, apparently without recognition.

"No," said Jack. "Yes, I've heard of Cerberus. _You're_ the one who shut it down?"

"Any idea what they might be talkin' about?" asked Tychus, leaning towards Lawson.

"Some idea," sniffed Lawson. "My father … ran in some pretty unsavory circles. Psionics were always of interest to him, and he did not flinch at collaborating with the KMs."

"Old Family, right?" Tychus grinned at Lawson's sudden uncomfortableness. "I remember the Lawsons. Quiet bunch, ignorin' the odd clonin' scandal."

"I would _thank you_ to never bring that up again," hissed Miranda through gritted teeth. She glanced to the two of them in the cage. "Especially to Jim. Please."

"It's ancient history," muttered Tychus, looking away.

Jack and Jim only took five minutes, and when she exited the cage, Jack looked quite appeased. _For the time bein'._

"You've got some powerful friends and they're making some crazy promises," said Jack, looking up at Raynor. "Still … thanks. It helps."

"Glad to hear it," said Jim, giving Tychus the nod. "Now – Jack – uh, the gentleman on the other end I mean – asked for you specifically, Tychus. We'll give you some privacy. Just walk into the light." He glanced at Lawson, and the three filed out, the doors hissing shut behind them.

Tychus sighed, cracked his knuckles, and strolled into the cage, blinking. Before him, glowing a translucent blue, stood an older gentleman, gray of hair, wearing a suit that Tychus bet even _smelled_ expensive. A cigarette trailed smoke in his hand, making Tychus crave something to smoke of his own.

"Tychus Findlay," said the man, inclining his head. "Soldier. Thief. Murderer. And prisoner. There was a time I might have been the one to hand you your sentence. My own titles: agent provocateur. Magistrate. Revolutionary. Then…" He waved a hand. "Well, I suppose you might call me an agent of terran progress nowadays. My name is Jack Harper. I am the one who arranged your transfer to the _Purgatory,_ as well as the one who provided Raynor with the funds."

"Awful neighborly of you," grunted Tychus, receiving vibes from the man that were anything but. "But I don't see why you'd want to call up a peon such as myself. I don't know half the shit that's goin' on in the galaxy, and frankly I ain't in much of a position to do anything about it." _Or care._

"You do not believe yourself to be a great man, Mr. Findlay?" asked Harper, prompting Tychus to shake his head. "We share that assessment. I read your history – well, histories. I had access to the Confederate version as well as the _Purgatory's_. Your biography reads as a man who continually took the easy way out and encouraged his friends to do likewise – right up until the point where it really mattered. You have my gratitude for taking the fall for Mr. Raynor."

"Don't recall doin' it for you," growled Tychus. "I know you want somethin' from me, _Magistrate_. What is it?"

"I want an understanding between us," said Jack, stubbing out the cigarette on an unseen ashtray, smoke curling from it. "Mr. Raynor – he has sacrificed much to maintain his self-image, one of a persecuted hero, a good man willing to do what others cannot or will not. The hard path. Mercy where others would succumb to vindictiveness. Honesty where others would lie. Selflessness when others would capitalize. To some extent – a very large one, actually – this image he has crafted has won him allies and respect. It also made him return to me to give me aid when another turned her back." Jack's voice remained mild, but Tychus detected a distinctly sour note towards the end. _Huh. Someone pissed you off?_

"Unfortunately, these tendencies are on the cusp of becoming problematic," continued Harper, looking Tychus in the eye. "I admire Mr. Raynor. I would go so far as to say I adore him. But this continued self-sacrifice and dogged pursuit of justice above all else … well. You witnessed on Omega just where it left you."

"I don't think Jimmy has ever made a habit of usin' folks as bait," said Tychus, folding his arms.

"But he has made a habit of pursuing fruitless causes, of jeopardizing the lives of people who would have been better off retreating," countered Harper. "You've seen it with Jack. He persuades people – he's a good man, he knows what he is doing, listen to him. He glows with a sort of … charm. The same charm that made him such an effective Confederate marshal, such an asset to Mengsk's rebellion."

"He's charismatic," said Tychus, shrugging. "He's a good man. Why are you sayin' these are bad things?"

"Because, above all else, he is an _unreasonable_ man," said Harper. "He is unbending. He possesses a rigid sense of right and wrong and refuses to compromise. Looking at his history, there is only one man still alive that has been known to talk Jim Raynor into or out of doing something." Harper stared into Tychus's eyes, unblinking.

"Yours truly." Tychus sighed. "You want me to keep him out of the worst scrapes. Stop him leapin' into burnin' orphanages, shit like that."

"A grim, if apt metaphor," replied Jack. "I am asking you to try and help Jim make his life easier. The galaxy is changing. A war that will put to shame Mengsk's rebellion brews on the horizon, and the people with whom I – with whom _we_ are allied are not entirely savory. I need you to keep Jim calm and pursuing actions that are not just in his best interests, but in the interests of Raiders as a whole. The galaxy can ill afford to lose Jim Raynor or the people who follow him."

"But you're askin' me to make sure he don't act like himself," said Tychus. "What's the difference between a galaxy with no good men and a galaxy with good men doin' the wrong thing?"

"I am asking you to prevent Jim from committing inadvertent suicide, Tychus," said Jack, clenching his hands. "I am asking you to help improve his tolerance for making sacrifices in pursuit of a greater good. Only you have the history and the personal clout to do that. Do I make myself clear?"

"What do I get out of it?" asked Tychus stubbornly. "You phrased this like it was a deal."

"You get to continue living in a universe in which Jim Raynor did not pointlessly sacrifice himself, robbing all of us lesser men of a greater one." Tychus could not think of a response to that. "Yes. I think you understand. Take care of him, and best of luck." Harper turned away, reaching for some unseen control.

"One thing," said Tychus, making Harper turn back to him. "Jack. What's her deal? What did you tell her?"

"The KMs lack a Ghost Program," said Jack. "This has led to some unfortunate attempts at … shortcuts, in the past. When Cerberus joined the KM's cause, they had just completed their preliminary tests on a captured Confederate ghost. They were interested in the uses of neural implants to increase psionic power, particularly telekinesis. The Archers, the family in charge of the project, had little interest in telepathy. They had already pushed people to 5 on the scale. Now they wanted to get it up to 7. Or failing that, create a workaround. A shortcut."

"Reverse the scale," muttered Tychus.

"Yes, reverse the scale." Jack licked his lips. "They wanted telekinesis before telepathy, and sought out a teep to do so. I was never able to fully access the Archer's notes on what they did, only that it involved targeting specific sites in the brain and … enhancing them by any means necessary. They did this frequently at the expense of other areas, as well as the subject's own wellbeing. I offered to introduce her to people who have suffered similar experiences, to join them in their crusade against the abuse of psionic individuals by terran governments. The Phantom Initiative. Gabriel Tosh will be glad to meet her."

"Well, thanks for telling me." _Shit, no wonder the poor girl's so angry._ Tychus looked Harper in the eye. "Now – just so we have an understanding – you best not deliberately start puttin' Jimmy in situations where he needs ol' Tychus to give him a push towards actin' like a rascal, you hear me? Otherwise, my lovable façade might just crack a little. You got me?"

Jack Harper just smiled and tapped an unseen key, winking out of sight. _Yeah. He got me._ He left the darkened room behind, emerging from the double doors to find Lawson waiting for him.

"Hello there, sweet thing," he rumbled, smiling. "You waitin' for Ol' Tychus?"

"You need to be debriefed with the rest of the ground team," said Lawson shortly. "Follow me."

"Sick of followin' folks everywhere," muttered Tychus. "Need to get me on a battlefield, let me cut my own path."

"Soon enough," said Lawson. "You're not much use anywhere else, to be blunt."

 _Hell … that stings, probably because I know it's true._ Tychus trailed behind Lawson, eventually recognizing the path. _Back at the armory._

Declan, Trome, Raynor, Xeltan, a bald man with a fierce looking metal arm, and Jenny, waited leaning against the walls and chatting idly. _Well, except the elcor._ They stared at Lawson as she entered the room.

"Matt's gonna break the news over the intercom," said Jim. "I've already told the team we'll be workin' for Cerberus, which means dealin' with KMs. Now – what's the mission, darlin'?"

"We've acquired some new allies to hit the Dominion with," said Lawson. She activated her omnitool and a symbol leapt from it: an eagle sitting atop a planet crossed with two stylized lightning bolts. "UED. United Earth Directorate. That's right – our homeworld has decided to step into the picture."

"WHAT?" The room exploded in conversation, and Tychus could not help but step back at that. _Earth? Earth showed up?_

"Cautiously: is this not a good thing?" asked Xeltan. "Tentatively optimistic: this means the terran homeworld is not lost, and your peoples may be united under this UED. Curiously: what is this "UED" like?"

"Thought it was the UPL, last I checked," said Trome. "United Powers League. The bastards who sent us into space to die."

"They're the United Earth Directorate now," said Lawson. "Harper's been in contact with one of the admirals in the so-called "Expeditionary Armada." He says they are polite, ambitious, and loathe Mengsk possibly as much as we do. They've brought their considerable military might to bear on his Dominion."

"I'd hoped it would be maybe the Council or Umojans who'd be the one to bring the hammer down on that son of a bitch," said Jim, pushing himself from the wall. "Jack didn't tell me this. Did he ally with these guys?"

"It is an informal alliance at present." Lawson stared Jim down unblinking. "He nevertheless believes that they are the people who will finally bring the emperor down. Even if it is by any means necessary."

"I read my histories, Miranda," spat Jim. "Last I checked, Earth was a polluted wasteland dominated by fascist overlords spoutin' racist doctrine about genetic purity. In short, exactly the kind of people I would not want to hand power to. Regardless of the shit show the Koprulu Sector might be runnin' these days, at least we're not initiating genetic purges. Even Mengsk doesn't go that far. Hell, even the Archers don't go that far!"

"Which is why Harper is already taking pains to weaken them and keep them in check," replied Miranda coolly. "Besides – Duran is with them. If the admirals decide to try something, he'll start shoving people out airlocks. He's good at that."

"Who gives a shit about Earth?" asked Jenny. "Do we know it's as bad there as it used to be? We don't. Do we know Mengsk is an evil fucker who deserves to die? We do. Are there people standin' up for it? There are? Then why are we arguin'?"

"The Hegemony is standing up to Mengsk," said Declan. "But I can tell you this: they are NOT the sort of people you want to be on the level with."

"He's offering us a lot of money, isn't he Jim?" Trome's quiet voice still managed to carry quite far.

"Yeah, he is." Jim looked away. "It'd keep this ship flyin' for a good long time. Keep us fed … more than fed. And Mengsk … well. This could be it."

"Sounds like the revolution you been askin' for, partner," said Tychus slowly, Harper's words echoing in his brain, "just not the one you wanted. Sounds like it's gonna happen with or without us. May as well try to get some good out of it."

"Humbly: perhaps we should not commit to any operations after the first until we can meet with these people." They all looked at Xeltan, who took a step forward. "With fiery brashness: and should they choose to cross us, and by extension Harper, they will not have long to learn from their mistake. We can also bring the ITSA and Council to bear. Eagerly: what is the ground mission?"

"Extraction of a KM military asset." Lawson tapped her omnitool again, and this time it spat out the image of one of the turtle bastards that had beat Tychus up on Omega. _Krogan._ "Not sure what the UED wants with a krogan battlemaster, but this guy fits their bill. Urdnot Wrex. Approximately a thousand years old, hired by the KMs six months ago to combat the Dominion. His Dominion kill count quickly reached the triple digits."

"Right, this seems like it's on the up and up." Raynor laughed harshly. "The known genocidal racists want to get their hands on a krogan, specifically a battlemaster. What do they want? To clone him? To finish off what the salarians started?"

"I don't get that impression," said Lawson, frowning. "I think it might actually be the other way around. They're looking for ways to make easy friends and prop up their numbers; curing the Genophage-"

"Fiercely: an even worse idea than rendering them extinct." Tychus was totally at sea at this point, but he recognized the shock in the room at Xeltan's statement. "Angrily: your people did not bear witness to the destruction wrought by the krogan. Forcefully: if the UED seeks to resurrect them, then I cannot endorse an alliance. The krogan would tear the galaxy apart once more."

"We don't know anything yet." Trome had folded his arms, glaring at the image of the battlemaster. "Where is the battlemaster stationed?"

"Proctor III," said Lawson. "Right on the Dominion lines. And, unfortunately, the Dominion has begun to advance. _Norad II_ will be flying right under Dominion guns."

"Which means Mengsk is gonna fly off the handle and start huntin' for us again," muttered Jim. He looked to Tychus, then back at the krogan. "Heh. Shit. Galaxy's movin' around us. Earth's showed up. Question is: we gonna participate? Or just keep spinnin' our wheels, doin' odd jobs for Zaeed Massani and whoever else will hire us?" Jim shook his head. "Don't seem like much of a choice to me. Darlin', draw up that planet. Let's see just how deep in the shit that krogan is."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Wrex**


	15. The Battlemaster

**Wrex**

"You know what I love most about this job?" yelled the KM door gunner over the roar of the dropship's engines and updraft. "You get to work with all kinds! The shit we've seen, right?" The gunner gave a harsh laugh, not even stopping when Wrex gave him the longest glower he could be bothered to muster before looking away again to check his suit readout. _Hate working with armies._

Wrex had told himself that what the KMs fielded really couldn't be called an army; to do so would be a grievous insult to the forces fielded by his ancestors, to the dedicated Dominion soldiers he himself would shortly be killing, hell, even the bastard turians with their "honor" and discipline.

 _But this is an army … no matter how many standards might be flying._ From his perch on the opposite door of the dropship, Wrex could see eight separate banners whipping about in the wind, barely secured to their flagpoles. _KMC, Hock, Kelham, Blue Suns, Eclipse, War Pigs, Blood Pack, and Dynacore. And that's just what I can see from this ship. The SIU and Terminus Systems are here in force as well, I know that for a fact._

Behind Wrex were fellow irregulars, mercenaries with longstanding reputations of effectiveness but no organization to call their own. Wrex's own dropship consisted of the KMC gunner, an enormous elcor in a hulking powered suit who took up most of the rear of the ship, a vorcha with seven different kinds of explosives tied to himself who frequently pounded his chest and muttered incoherently, and (of all things) a volus in a bright red hardened mobile exosuit. _I look behind me, I can pretend it isn't an army. I look in front of me, and I can see just how messy it's going to get._

The money was too good, and the honeyed promises of the Hock recruiter had told Wrex what he had wanted to hear. Good fights, bonuses for exceptional performance, advance pay due to his extensive history … Wrex ground his teeth together, shifting the enormous rifle in his arms and reaching back for the butt of his shotgun. _It's not going anywhere._ It still made him feel better.

 _Small teams or on my own. That's what I told them._ At first, the Hocks lived up to their word. They sent Wrex on solitary night drops, terrorizing the Dominion line with surprise attacks. Then they attached a pair of vorcha to work with him. That hadn't been too bad. The two of them would either climb trees or burrow underground, and Wrex led the Dominion soldiers on merry chases through the territory the little freaks claimed.

 _We did too well._ The Dominion issued a kill order for "that fatass krogan and the giggling cannibal twins." As a result, Wrex's fourth drop with the vorcha resulted in dozens of firebats being ferried in from all over Proctor III, all of whom had been given express orders to bring him down by any means necessary, and that the one who did would be exceedingly well compensated. Wrex walked away with minor burns and another three dozen kills to his name. The vorcha did not.

When Wrex trudged his way back to camp, his armor spattered in the blood of his foes, he found dozens of soldiers and mercenaries alike huddled around vidscreens, muttering to themselves. It had been a long time since Wrex had felt fear, and he wasn't about to start then … but even so, he felt uneasy.

"Warfield has ordered the advance," a batarian said to Wrex's left in response to his grunted question. "Proctor III is first in line. Here comes the Dominion." And from that point forward, Wrex had been part of an army.

"Goose-5, locked and loaded," said the pilot of Wrex's dropship, his own voice low and hurried. "Ready to launch here."

Klaxons sounded through the camp. Men and women of all races ran back and forth between the screaming dropships, shouting last minute instructions, warnings, and prayers. Wrex's tongue sought out the roof of his mouth, rolling it back and forth. _And that's about the extent of my anxiety._ It was too early to feel any rage … and he doubted he could muster any up in any case. _Too old._ He looked back through the fog of ages and found … nothing. _All my enemies are long dead. I couldn't give a vorcha's ass about the terrans; they pay well and fight hard, but that's hardly unique. What's this Dominion done to me, to my people?_ Not even the Genophage could light a spark any longer.

 _I am a battlemaster of the krogan. One of the last … and my insides are coated in permafrost. Does it even matter if I survive the coming battle? How much left of me is truly recognizably krogan?_ He looked back again at the motley band of killers huddled in the back of the craft. _Is this my krannt, those willing to kill and die on my behalf? It is not. Hock need only flick a credit chit in their direction, and they'd come at me with knives._

 _Is this my world? It is not. There are days I forget its very name. Are these my people?_ Wrex examined the other mercenaries carefully. The vorcha leered back, the volus ignored him, and the elcor shifted into what Wrex recognized as a threatening posture. _Once, perhaps. Killing for credits … it is something we are all familiar with. Only now, blood loses its taste. I no longer savor the fear in my enemy's eyes._ For a brief instant, Wrex contemplated asking his grandfather for advice. Was this steady deadening of the senses normal for a krogan his age? But his grandfather was long dead. _I may very well be the oldest krogan alive. And now I'm going senile._ The craft shifted beneath him, and the ground trailing beneath his feet grew in distance. _Not even a lurch in the stomachs at takeoff. Pitiful._

The terran gunner laughed over the din, but Wrex sensed no humor in it. _Afraid. He signed up as a patriot. Probably not paid enough to dim the fear._ The heavy metal structures and ramshackle tents of their encampment gave way to the thick jungles of Proctor III. Avian creatures scattered from the trees at their deafening passage. _Huh. Sometimes I feel like animals have the smart idea._ The radios buzzed with updates from the KM front, but Wrex could barely pay attention.

"We've got our siege tanks outside their lines – AA and infantry are engaged, but holding. Watch for Banshees."

"Eclipse has the flank – biotic and tech specialists pushing close to their tanks."

"Got a Thor here! Break off and separate."

The dropship banked and began to turn, making Wrex shift to make sure he didn't fall out of the craft. _And even that would not kill me in this suit. It would just be embarrassing._

The thunder of bursting missiles filled the air. The morning air, previously damp with life and rife with the sounds of nearby animals, now gave way to thick smoke and the crack of gunfire. The door gunner's weapon chattered suddenly, casings spilling behind and pouring against Wrex's suit and out his end of the ship. He watched the strips of metal fall away into the foliage below. _Hmph. Limited ammunition. Terrans._

The opening of the Koprulu Sector might have been the last time Wrex felt something. He watched the news daily, mind racing at the possibilities. _Someone put the turians in their place. Hah. Will this be a new rachni situation? Who are these "terrans?"_

The answers had been prompt. There was indeed a new "rachni" situation, and for the first time in a long time, the Council engaged in talks of curing the Genophage. Salarians made contact with clan leaders, and Wrex began trawling through extranet sites in search of shuttles to Tuchanka, his hearts racing. _A new beginning._

Then … talks dried up. The terrans rode in to the rescue alongside the protoss, and Wrex became stranded on Ilium when the relays locked. The final battles were decided without him, without the krogan people. The asari lost their seat, and Wrex could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy at this. Most of Illium had fallen into mourning as the death figures rolled in, and it became clear that the asari, like the krogan, had been betrayed by the establishment that owed them a great deal.

Then, in such a changed galaxy, things reasserted themselves. The krogan, having pointedly taken themselves out of the war and recalled as many sons of Tuchanka as they could back home in order to encourage finally curing the damnable Genophage, were ignored. The terrans, turians, and salarians ran things much the same as before, as far as Wrex was concerned; the only difference was that now a grand war loomed on the horizon, and a new sector opened up. _It had been too long since I had seen something new. Pretty sure I was the first krogan through._

The craft bounced once, making Wrex grunt. _I suppose the fighting starts soon._ His blood felt cool in his veins. _This isn't something I care about. Why am I even here? How many years do I have left, to be worried about credits?_

It didn't matter. Wrex had been born to do one thing, to enact the manifest destiny of the krogan. _Kill everything that I am told to._

"This is it!" screamed the gunner, making Wrex shake his head in disbelief. _Poor little pyjack._ "Krogan – begin drop! We-" The ship let off high pitched beeps, indicating a missile lock. _Well, see you later princesses._ Wrex pushed himself from the edge of the craft and fell, entirely without drama. He descended through the empty air with a high pitched whistle, his suit reorienting him to insure a landing of maximum efficiency.

Trails of orange sped past Wrex and up to the craft, doubtless causing the poor gunner to wet himself. Wrex grunted as his world flashed orange, but he had no time to look up. He descended past the burning foliage and hit the ground, a plume of earth spreading at his landing. He locked his knees quickly and brought his weapon to bear, all eight feet of it.

Wrex remembered well the almost-excitement when he discovered the existence of modified CMC suits for sale. The KMs correctly anticipated the rise of power armor outside Koprulu space and were quick to capitalize. Wrex checked off every item on the list for what he wanted for his suit and weapon. Barriers – check. Extra armor over vitals and as much as possible on joints – check. Superior targeting systems – of course. Automated medical systems, wrist mounted grenade launchers, eezo core for enhanced motion – check, check, check. _Money well spent … at first._ The targeting systems went green while the enhanced barriers soaked up the weapons fire of the startled Dominion marines. Wrex squeezed the trigger, and his blood remained still.

Fighting with the CMC … it was nothing like the frantic fights of his youth. The fights bore no resemblance to the rancid fear he choked back during his Rite, as he closed the distance to the Thresher Maw to attempt what no krogan had done since before the War of Dust. Here, it was simple resource allocation and threat assessment, the kind of work fit for some weak-kneed salarian at a computer, dumping high explosives on a batarian settlement several light years away.

 _Eight rounds center mass, marine goes down. Goliath takes twelve rounds to break open chassis, three rounds to be safe in pilot. Banshee overhead, painted by orbiting science vessel. Nine rounds and it backs off, report location to the KM flyboys. Barriers need to recharge._

Wrex ducked behind the smoking remnants of the Goliath and waited for the barriers to go back up. _Suit check – all systems green. Of course they are._ Wrex ground his teeth, almost willing it to hurt, so that he would feel _something._ _Battle should not be rote. This is rote … so it cannot be battle._ The ground shook, and the enemy terrans blared something from a crackling loudspeaker. _Thor._ Wrex peered around the corner of the Goliath.

The Thor stood almost of a height of the terran buildings around it, a colossal machine built in the terran's image, massive guns in place of where their normal pitiful extremities lay. Its cannons steamed from the constant discharge, and the missile batteries on its back looked almost empty. _Probably a bonus in it for me if I take it out._ Wrex swept that rationalization aside. He stared at the swiveling guns as they turned towards a source of heavy weapons fire – the elcor from earlier. Wrex looked to the top of the nearby aflame command center, and then to the Thor's cockpit. _Hmm._ The air rippled with the distortions cast by the Thor's cannons. Wrex dropped his rifle and sprinted for the command center, hand on the butt of his much more manageably sized shotgun.

The Thor did not see him at first, its twin cannons making mincemeat of the fool elcor that opposed him. Wrex paid no mind when the Thor ceased firing and began to swivel, training its cannons on the smaller target. Wrex leapt, pushing against the ground with his biotics to get just a bit more lift. Rounds pinged off his barriers as he soared, then his armor when he landed and his barrier collapsed. Stinging pain crept in as a round punched through a joint in his left arm, but quickly subsided. On all fours, Wrex climbed further up the command center before turning, facing himself toward the Thor. His heart now shuddering ever so slightly, Wrex tensed his legs and _sprinted_ , his boots clanging against the roof of the command center. A curtain of flame separated him from the edge of the command center and the Thor, obscuring his target from view. Wrex dashed through the licking orange, grinned when the temperature readings spiked.

Wrex pounced, biotics flaring in order to lessen the hold gravity had over him, the Thor's weapons turned up, up, almost bending back horizontal to catch the shadow of the krogan who was about to end it all. Wrex, almost upon the Thor, reached back for his shotgun with one hand and prepared a warp with the other, his fingers clenching with the energy surging through his body and out through the suit. Krogan and Thor collided in a scream of twisting steel, and Wrex held on for dear life.

Metal showered his arm as it punched through the composite covering the cockpit, the surface turning first bright blue and then cherry red as it burned and warped. Wrex, grunting with the strain, ripped the shotgun free from the holster on his back and let it unfold in his uncompromised hand. The Thor's loudspeakers shrieked with the terror of the pilot inside the enormous machine, but Wrex could still hear the muffled yelling from within, the source of that terrible cacophony. Wrex ground his teeth, pointed his weapon, and fired it twice, arm holding steady with the recoil. The screaming only intensified and the Thor began to awkwardly thrash, its arms swinging close enough to Wrex's head to awaken some long lost spark of vague anxiety.

 _Die with dignity, pyjack._ He squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, and the shotgun registered a beep of complaint, overheating with a soft chorus. The loudspeaker fell silent. The arms ceased their frantic if robotic thrashing. Wrex withdrew his arm from the smoking material and shook it out, steaming bits of metal and wiring falling away from his hand. He fell back to earth with a grunt. _There. You got your advance. Does the extra money mean anything to you, really?_

Wrex fell back to his Goliath and retrieved his rifle. He stared up into the skies, waiting for the inevitable bombardment. _Thor's gone, terrans. Lay down the law._ A high pitched whine filled the air, and streaks of light slammed into the distant jungle with such force that Wrex stumbled. The mercs and Dominion all around him ceased their fire. _No point in throwing their lives away._ _Orbital superiority established over this zone … at least until the Dominion sends in the dreadnought._

The distant thunder of siege tanks vanished in the wake of the orbital display in favor of a familiar low droning. _Ah. Hock._ Wrex turned in the direction of the sound, trying to peer over the smoldering jungle around him. The droning grew louder, and the trees bent over double to accommodate the massive dropship that Hock used as a mobile command center. The KMs and mercs shouted orders and brandished weapons, sending the Dominion to the center of the clearing, the corpses of their fellows and wrecks of their structures surrounding them. The dropship, decorated in garish light blue paint, descended upon the clearing with a hellish howl, making Wrex bare his teeth in pain.

The dropship landed, its engines deactivating before the array of grim faced mercenaries and their fresh prisoners. The ramp descended, revealing the slender form of the man who hired them originally.

"You are all to be commended!" Donovan Hock yelled as the engine slowly wound down. "Splendid, splendid, absolutely capital." He walked down the ramp with a kind of casual menacing ease that Wrex knew came of either complete self-assurance or utter madness. It was rare to see a non-krogan perfect it. He looked about, lips pursed.

"It appears we have some POWs to deal with," Hock said, cheerful tone taking on an edge. "Alright gents, and ladies too, if anyone here can call themselves that. I have a very simple question to ask you. In all honesty, how many of you would either the Dominion or your families pay top credit for in exchange for your safe return? Hands up! Come on, now."

Every terran in red armor or uniform raised their hands. Hock shook his head, chuckling.

"If that were true, then executing every one of you would strike a heavy blow to the Dominion, I would think." Hock motioned for the circle of mercs and soldiers around the prisoners to raise their weapons. Wrex followed suit, feeling nothing. "Once more now, honestly. Hands up if anyone would care, or you all go." Several hands lowered, and Hock smiled brightly. "You – Sergeant. Separate them, would you kindly?" Wrex clicked his tongue, knowing what would come next. _These terrans … it's rare to see this kind of hatred directed at one's own species over all the other aliens they could be expending their energy on._

The circle of people whom the Dominion apparently would not pay for was strangely smaller than the other. Hock shook his head.

"Seems a bit strange, doesn't it?" he asked, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Almost as if we were being lied to. Hmm. Just to be safe – execute the larger group."

Wrex had served plenty of pirate lords, slavers, and smugglers in his time, but the KMs seemed to be determined to prove themselves more consistently unpleasant than any of them. Wrex still squeezed his trigger, digging his heels in as the initial rush of panicked soldiers came close to the edge of mercenaries. After the first few seconds, there was no further need for concern. The targeting systems steadily directed Wrex's gun downwards into the twitching piles of gore, seeking out the final perpetrators of unsteady movement.

The firing stopped as suddenly as it began. Someone in the smaller circle of sacrifices was sobbing in the still, making Wrex sigh. _The pay does not even matter. I feel nothing. Not disgust. Not fear. Not excitement or satisfaction. Just a bit more suffering to add to the universe._

"Chin up, now!" called out Hock to the remaining Dominion troops. "For your honesty – or assuming lack thereof, bravery – you have been rewarded with life! It is akin to a children's story – where such self-sacrifice is met with recompense instead of ignominious demises. You still have opportunities to improve your situations. Sergeant – call in dropships to escort these people to the pens. Now, who claims responsibility for that masterpiece of destruction?" Hock extended a finger towards the still upright wreck of the Thor. Wrex grunted, stepping forth.

"I invite you on board my ship, good sir," said Hock, beckoning. "The rest of you – next zone. Go, shoo!" Hock spun on his heel and entered the craft, Wrex's heavy footfalls close behind. The ramp closed behind them.

"Welcome aboard the _Magistrate_ , krogan," said Hock, brandishing a hand at the (sigh) well-lit interior and cozy interior of the craft. Soft red carpet coated the floors, while pictures of long-dead and self-satisfied looking Hocks filled Wrex's mind with the image of burning money. "Ah … I think I remember you. Wrex, was it? Urdnot? The thousand-year old?"

"Yes," replied Wrex. Hock's smile widened.

"The things you have seen, I expect!" He extended a hand, which Wrex dwarfed easily with his own armored extremity. He shook Hock's hand with as much gentleness as he could muster.

"Take off the armor and join me upstairs," said Hock, indicating an empty corner in the lusciously decorated cargo bay. _Why decorate a cargo bay?_ "I think I still have that bottle of ryncol I bought as a curiosity. I'd like to have a chat."

"Right." Wrex shrugged himself out of his armor, leaving his two weapons to either side of the suit. Hock gestured for him to follow him up a flight of stairs, and Wrex obliged him.

"I simply wanted to offer thanks and a bonus to the one responsible for that Thor's magnificent destruction," said Hock, his voice echoing down the staircase, "but, well, how can a man not be curious about a hireling almost twenty times his own age? I hope you enjoy good KM hospitality." Wrex grunted.

The climb terminated in a well-lit observation room, the smoke, flames, and foliage visible from miles around.

"The _Magistrate_ is chiefly built for atmospheric flight, but can exit orbit in a pinch," said Hock, indicating the largest chair in the room for Wrex. Wrex shrugged and sat, the chair creaking in protest. Hock scooted his own, much smaller chair towards him before vanishing somewhere behind Wrex. The reassuring sound of pouring liquid met Wrex's ears. _Hmm. Ryncol might be nice._

"I make it a point to try something new every time I visit Omega," said Hock, handing a glass full of still brown liquid to Wrex. He sat down opposite him, his own glass in hand. "Purchasing this ryncol – well, it was the only time a vendor on Omega gave me a warning about his product. "Not fit for terran consumption," he said. "Even krogan have a hard time knocking these back."" Hock sniffed the glass, nose wrinkling. Wrex downed his in a single shot, and set it on the arm of his table. _Not bad._ His throat burned slightly and his tongue had gone numb, but that was about par for the course. _Second liver's got some work cut out for it._ Hock set his glass aside.

"You have born witness to the passing of a millennia, yes?" Hock steepled his fingers and watched Wrex's reaction: a simple nod. "Hah. Excellent. You were alive at a time when our species had barely begun to master firearms, as we made our initial forays into space travel, when Earth sent her prison ships here. To Umoja, Moria, and Tarsonis. Tell me, what do you think of us terrans?"

"You're new," said Wrex, drawing a laugh from Hock.

"Yes, but I already knew that." He leaned forward. "Very well, then. Individual nations. How do you feel about … the Combine? The Dominion? The Protectorate? We'll leave out the ITSA for now."

 _Pays well, doesn't pay well, bunch of naïve idiots._ Wrex tilted his head slightly.

"KMC has my contract," rumbled Wrex. "Dominion doesn't. Protectorate doesn't. Terrans seem the same as anyone else – self-interested and convinced of their own rightness."

"But – have you seen anything like us before?" pressed Hock, eyes narrowing with intensity. "We changed the political landscape of the Council."

"So did krogan. Just happened a longer time ago." Wrex stifled a yawn. "Only people I can't claim to have seen anything like before would be the protoss. They didn't hire me either."

"It seems to me you have a very binary way of thinking." Hock sipped his glass, his cheeks reddening and his eyes bulging in the aftermath. He coughed, waving a hand near his face. "Ah … this did indeed warrant a warning, even on Omega. I would dump it in the sink, if I did not fear that doing so would be my sink's end." He set the glass aside on the floor while Wrex watched, unamused. "So – a thousand years of life as a mercenary has produced … the ultimate mercenary. Concerned only with the job, the contract, the fulfillment of an agreement." Hock nodded, trying to smile and mostly failing. "I like that. Unthreatening to me, so long as I remain the highest bidder. If I paid you to be more talkative, would you be … more talkative?"

"No." Wrex shrugged. "Been paid already. Would like a bonus for the Thor, but I got nothing to say to anybody on this planet."

"Yes … thank you for doing that. While Warfield's little ships are tied up on the other side of the planet with the Terminus fleet, we can make some significant gains here." Hock bid Wrex rise, and Wrex reluctantly did so. The two stood side by side near the window, watching the foliage zip by.

"It's not really the money that drives people, you know," said Hock, the smile and cheeriness vanishing. "As an owner of slaves, I can easily testify to that. The whip and the stick work just as well as the carrot. It's fear. Fear of no shelter, of starvation, of loneliness. It motivates everything. Right now, I fear boredom, hence I brought you up here." He sniffed. "In you, I sense no fear. A thousand years of life, and you have found nothing to be afraid of?" Wrex turned to Hock at this, who narrowed his eyes. "You either possess an iron will or a deficit of intellect, and I do not think it is the latter. You would not still live if that were the case."

Wrex tilted his head again. "What's a carrot?"

Hock issued a harsh bark of laughter. "Orange vegetable. Replace it with a foodstuff of your choice – the point is, money does not motivate. Fear does. Even the rich man in pursuit of further wealth, such as myself, feels fear. Fear of irrelevance. Fear of stagnation. Fear that his dynasty may fall behind if he becomes indolent." Hock licked his lips. "So … Urdnot Wrex, he of a thousand years and I assume many more kills. What do you fear, if anything?"

 _Once, I feared for my species. That fear died down in the Hollows._

"I fear being insufficiently compensated for the Thor," said Wrex, unbudging. Hock gave a sharp sigh.

"You will be compensated," he snapped, turning away. "It is clear you do not fear me, at least. Now-" The omnitool on Hock's wrist lit up. He tapped it with probably more force than necessary. "Yes, what?"

"We've got confirmed visual feed of that device from earlier, sir," said a voice from the other end. "It's a psi emitter."

Hock palmed his face, while Wrex felt the barest hint of excitement. _Zerg. Now that would be fun._

"Have they activated it?" asked Hock. "Do we have any confirmed reports of the Dominion having brought a slave brood?"

"Three ships entered the upper atmosphere an hour ago, headed for your side of the planet, sir," replied the person on the other end. "When we got to them, the crew surrendered, but the ships were mostly empty. I think Warfield's finally pulled the trigger on this one. I recommend getting clear."

Hock shut off the omnitool with a sneer.

"Nonsense," he said. "Pilot – take us down to Firebase Charlie and make sure the word gets out – the Dominion are activating psi emitters and fielding zerg. Send out a request to Moria that we need a psi disrupter over here, post haste, priority 1. Got it?"

"Aye aye, sir!" called the pilot over the intercom. Hock cast a glance over to Wrex, frowning.

"No fear for the zerg?" asked Wrex as the _Magistrate_ began to descend. "Any surprise?"

"Mengsk has already gained a great deal politically from the usage of those wretched bugs," replied Hock. "He has no good reason to stop. So, as the KMC expected, the experiments have continued. Certain broods were spared destruction in favor of study. I've even been told that he has been attaching ghosts as handlers for the wretched things." The _Magistrate_ landed with a thud while air sirens screamed in the distance. "As for fear-" The dropship shuddered once, cutting him off as he staggered. Wrex thought he heard gurgling … and then the entire ship _lurched_ as something enormous reared from within the soil, screaming as its head pierced the depths.

"…I can manage fear," panted Hock, pointing at the rolling yellow eye that looked down upon them. "Further compensation for the death of the Nydus worm!"

"I'll go get my gear then," said Wrex, hearts actually speeding up. _Heh. I'll feel like my ancestors of old, fighting the rachni._ He descended the stairs two at a time, and found his gear right where he left it, to his relief. Muffled screams, gunshots, and yet more explosions could be heard beyond the ramp. _And I'm missing out._ Wrex stepped into his armor and planted the helmet firmly on his head. _Systems still green._ He hefted his rifle and pounded the ramp button, leaving a mighty dent. _Like Hock will have a problem paying for it._ The ramp lowered with a mighty his … and this time Wrex could appreciate his battlefield.

The worm belched packs of massive bugs on to the battlefield, sending them tearing about the tents and structures. A colossal vorcha wrestled with a hydralisk, shearing off one of its limbs before sending a gout of fire directly into its mouth through a wrist-mounted flamethrower. _Heh. I like this._ The vorcha dived into the earth, its body vibrating at magnificent speeds, shifting the soil. Wrex hoisted his gun, selected "polonium" on his omnitool, and let the rounds fly.

 _Bugs._ Zerglings sprayed gore as his rounds cut into them, their organs spilling on to the blood-soaked ground. _Bugs._ Wrex closed the distance to the nydus worm, grunting as his barriers shattered under the weight of a distant dekuunalisk's spines. He picked up the pace. _More bugs._ He lowered his head and charged the final hydralisk between himself and the worm. One scythe dug into his side as they collided with a great _crunch_ , but it only made Wrex grin as, at long last, his blood rose to a simmer. The hydralisk recoiled at the force, and Wrex brought his rifle barrel across the creature's face, making one of the mandibles fly off. Now incensed, he seized the creature by the nearest arm and pulled it forward before rearing his head back. He slammed his helmet against the hydralisk's face full force, relishing that brief instant of uncertainty that flashed through its yellow eyes before oblivion. Wrex let go of the creature's corpse and charged the worm, his task nearing completion.

Wrex leapt into the air, directly over the nydus's gurgling gullet, feeling the familiar strain in his hump as his biotics coursed their way through his body. One hand fell free of his rifle, the energy transferring neatly into it. He landed full force on the lip of the creature's inner mouth, his nova traveling straight down its quivering lips. The creature gulped and shivered as blue light burned its way through its throat, down into its soft innards. Wrex laughed and jumped aside as the creature burbled and howled, this time belching forth a mixture of steaming thick green liquid and mulched zergling. The creature shook violently before retreating underground with a pained screen, making Wrex cast a meaningful look up at the _Magistrate's_ observation deck. _That's a Thor and a nydus worm in one day._ Several more spines pinged off Wrex's barrier, and his simmering blood inched its way to a satisfying boil. _Heh._ _It's no Thessia, but it will do._

Indeed, despite the depressing lack of biotic manifestation amongst the zerg, Wrex could not help but find enjoyment in his task. His biotics cracked open zerglings, pulled them towards his waiting boots, and protected him from the worst of their frenzied attacks. The hydralisks were like klixen but smarter and meaner; twice they initiated a subterranean ambush and pulled him into a hidden burrow. The first time had been surprising, and Wrex only escaped by virtue of tearing the hydralisk's head off with his biotics. The second time, Wrex stabbed the creature to death with its own scythe and emerged from the ground covered in blood, none of it his own.

Elsewhere, the terrans screamed and died. Their firebats, never much in evidence, now set light to anything that moved, trying to let the siege tanks reach an appropriate distance. The KM marines, meanwhile, died by the dozen, leaving the bulk of the work to be taken care of by mercenaries. _Like that's anything new._

Wrex absentmindedly pulled a zergling off of the struggling body of a KM marine and crushed it beneath his boot, relishing the way it cracked under his weight. Movement to his left caught his eye. He turned, and then doubled over as an enormous round shattered his barriers, making him stagger. Blood rising, Wrex followed his instinct and charged in the direction of the bullet. After a minute of straight charging, he found himself outside the firebase and inside the jungle, no sign of his assailant. _Ghost._

Something crashed through the clearing, roaring and slavering.

"About time!" Wrex readied his rifle, laughing. The ultralisk _screamed_ back, and Wrex's blood finally rose to a boil.

His weapon shook as he fired it full-auto, its massive rounds punching into the ultralisk's face, making it shake its head in fury. Wrex launched a grenade, filling the air with smoke and flame, but leaving little more than a scorch mark. Wrex tossed his weapon aside charged himself, biotics shifting to aid his barrier.

The ultralisk's scythes came to the fore, and Wrex extended his arms and held them, grunting, still running. The ultralisk writhed in place, raging against its impotence while Wrex dived under it.

 _These things have a soft underbelly, right?_ Wrex released the scythes and punched upwards, tearing into what he hoped would be softer flesh.

It was no softer, and Wrex's fist only chipped the creature's carapace. The ultralisk shifted about, and Wrex did his best to follow, knowing that the minute the creature could get ahold of him, he would be torn to shreds. The zerg uprooted trees in its frenzied passing, its screams growing more and more frantic. Thus, when it fell entirely still, Wrex could not help but feel … unease.

Another round slammed into his side, and this time it drew blood. Wrex ducked behind the thick leg of the now completely motionless monster and produced his shotgun. _Full spectrum cloak._ He could feel his wound steadily knitting itself shut under the armor, but even so, more blood bubbled up from under his armor than he felt comfortable with. _Big gun, fully invisible, very quiet._ Wrex shut his eyes and listened.

The ultralisk panted above him, letting out great steamy breathes into the jungle air. Whatever wildlife that normally made such a ruckus when Wrex crept through the jungle remained completely still. And softly, ever so softly, something padded towards him. _Wait for it._

Something small and metal fell at his feet. Wrex looked down. _Very clever._ A flick of his wrist sent the grenade flying back the way it came. Wrex grinned when he heard a scream beneath the bang. That grin faded as the ultralisk gave an almighty bellow and tore off in the direction of the firebase.

Wrex watched the back of the creature retreat out of view, and resolved to follow it in a moment. Screams of terrified terrans and yet more gunfire reverberated through the stillness of the jungle, but Wrex had to take care of something first.

He found the ghost lying face up, a bloody stump where his arm used to be, his breaths coming ragged and fast as the red pooled under him. Wrex leveled his shotgun with the man's masked head and pulled the trigger twice. Sparks and shards of skull flew from the impacts, and Wrex grunted in satisfaction. _Time to finish this._

He reentered the firebase with cooling blood, and found the _Magistrate_ toppled. The ultralisk had apparently torn through the base without stopping, leaving a steady trail of debris in its wake. Bodies lay stiff on the ground in various states of dismemberment, making Wrex feel hungry. _Used too many biotics today._

A batarian SIU goon in matte black power armor leaned against the side of the toppled _Magistrate_ , smoking a massive cigar. Wrex joined him against the dropship and watched the surviving KMs begin the grisly business of collecting bodies and recovering their boss from the ruined ship.

"Hard fight?" asked Wrex.

"Not as bad as Thessia," replied the batarian, expelling a stream of smoke from his mouth.

"Yeah..." _Lucky._

No one paid either of them any mind as the cleanup began. After all, they were not paid to clean up bodies or rescue executives. The batarian produced another cigar and offered it to Wrex, who took it gratefully before waving off the lighter in favor of swallowing the thing whole.

"Not bad," he said, making the batarian crack a smile before looking up. In the skies above, Wrex witnessed a familiar sight, one that posed a dilemma. _Get ready for some killing, or just more boredom?_ Wrex still felt slightly impressed at the utility of terran battlecruisers, which, while slow and lacking impressive armament beyond the yamato, could still operate inside atmospheres and carry enough troops for ground operations and enough smaller ships to make the turians wary. The battlecruiser grew larger and larger in their vision until, with a sigh, the batarian spat out his cigar and lowered his visor.

"What are you two doing standing around?" Hock, hair now plastered against his forehead, had apparently lost any semblance of his pseudo-sunny behavior. He looked up. "Who in the-"

The battlecruiser stopped over the camp, hovering menacingly overhead. Still, no one fired a shot. The colors were bright blue and poorly painted overall, definitely not a Dominion ship. _Not a KM ship either._ A dropship emerged from a hangar and bore directly for the camp. It landed without much aplomb next to the wrecked _Magistrate_ , and several figures in power armor emerged.

"Raynor." Hock did not phrase it like a question, more like he was announcing poor weather. He motioned for Wrex and the batarian goon to follow, which they did. _Huh. Always wondered if I'd meet the famous Raynor out here._ Wrex had missed his chance during the previous Dominion push … but then again, meeting someone who would likely be dead within the decade did not interest him greatly. _Still … I hear he's friends with the protoss._

Three figures in power armor stood before them. The central figure, a weathered-looking male terran in bright blue armor, stepped forward.

"Donovan Hock," said the man. "Didn't think we'd meet again."

"Captain Raynor." Hock nodded to the captain. "Ah, Trome, I remember you. And … Miss Lawson? This is interesting; the Raiders are back in the fight, I take it?"

"Mr. Hock," said the probably female terran on the left, her voice betraying no small hint of disgust. "We're here for the krogan."

"The krogan?" Hock exchanged a glance with Wrex, who shrugged. _This is new._ "If you haven't noticed, I am currently wrestling for control over this Terrazine rich planet with the Dominion, something our mutual friend stressed was highly important. I can't just start handing over highly valuable assets without any good reason; Mr. Urdnot has destroyed both a Thor and a nydus worm in the last two hours alone!"

 _Mr. Urdnot._ Wrex resisted the urge to laugh at Hock's ignorance, instead focusing on the reactions of the terrans.

"So … Mengsk is back to using zerg," said Raynor, looking around at the bodies strewn about the camp, all piled up and ready for burning. "Shit, you can use this. Just notify the Council-"

"Yes, I am sure they'll all come rushing to the rescue of the non-member whom they all hate," said Hock, studying the hard bits on the end of his fingers. "Oh, no, that's not right. The turians and salarians cannot afford to send anyone without weakening their own positions. I suppose some harsh words for Mengsk are in order, then." Hock spat on to the soil. "That's always proven a strong deterrent."

"The krogan," said Lawson into the awkward silence, "we still need the krogan. It's critical."

" _He's_ critical," corrected Hock. "If you would be so kind as to give a reason…"

"Harper ordered it, that should be enough," said Lawson, voice hardening. "Look – I give you my word that through the krogan's presence, we can take the heat off this world, and off the KM border."

"The krogan has a name," said Wrex, finally having enough of being treated like some piece on a game board, "Urdnot Wrex. And I'm not going anywhere until I receive some incentive."

"Money?" Raynor asked, raising one of the furry bits above his eyes. "You want money?"

"I want something I can use," said Wrex staring into the eyes of the rebel captain. "Money's always useful, but I doubt you can outspend Hock. Find something else."

The three terrans exchanged glances while Hock tapped his foot against the blood-matted grass and soil.

"It … would be the right thing to do?" Lawson did not sound as if even she believed the words coming out of her mouth, and Hock openly laughed.

"How about: the krogan stays with me and my forces until our mutual friend comes up with something more tangible?" Hock extended a hand. "Deal?"

"Earth," said Raynor, staring Wrex right in the eye. "We've got folks from Earth that want to meet you. Fresh to the sector. You'll be a part of history, something new. And … chances are … they're plannin' to do something about your Genophage."

"Raynor…" Lawson started, but stopped when Raynor waved her off. Wrex, gaze still locked with Raynor's, cocked his head.

"You … you can't be serious!" Hock sputtered, looking between the two of them, then back at Wrex. "Earth? Earth is here?! You must be lying!"

"Call Harper up," said Raynor. "Let him know I spilled the beans. He'll be pissed, but he won't deny it. They're called the UED. United Earth Directorate. I'm going to meet them. Are you?" Raynor directed the question to Wrex, who blinked.

 _No payment … but money does not matter. No certainty … but that lends to the excitement. These promises … are new. And if I remember Raynor's reputation correctly…_

"Why not?" Wrex asked, stepping forward. "Beats executing surrendering soldiers for this pyjack."

"This is a breach of contract, Wrex," snapped Hock. "When I inform the other families-"

"What? That you actively impeded diplomacy with the gents that are about to take down Mengsk?" Raynor shook his head and turned his back, leading Wrex and his two companions back to the dropship.

"Feel good to get the last word?" asked Lawson as they sat down. "Because he'll remember that. As he's so fond of telling people at his parties, "No one crosses Donovan Hock!"" Wrex almost chuckled at the last part, which was a dreadfully accurate mockery of Hock's garbled accent.

"Well, at least we'll have Wrex on our side," said the otherwise silent terran known as Trome, smiling at Wrex. "How do you feel?"

"I'm hungry, and Hock's a fool who has no business at playing war," said Wrex. "I should've ate him."

Everyone else in the ship stared straight ahead at this, apparently unused to such proclamations.

"Do we, uh, need to pick up anything of yours?" asked Jim as the dropship began its climb.

"Got my armor and my guns, nothing else is important," said Wrex. "Thousand years of living will teach you that. Thought your homeworld was out of the picture?"

"So did I," replied Raynor, sounding unhappy. "But within the next day, for the first time in our lives, we'll be chattin' with folks who were born on the surface of Earth. Not sure how to feel about it."

Wrex leaned back against the seat, which he swore made the ship tilt slightly. _And I'm not sure to feel, period. And that … that is exciting to me._ His thoughts turned to the Hollows, the hallowed place where so many krogan were buried. _Including my father. Where does the blame lie? With him? Or with the turians and salarians?_

He looked around at his fellow passengers, all of whom pointedly avoided eye contact. _Well, at least these terrans had nothing to do with it, I'll give them that much._

 _And if they're lying, I can always eat them._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**

 **A/N: Merry Valentine's Day!**


	16. Completely Trustworthy

**Alexei**

"…showed up in a seventy-four kilometer long warship," said the obviously flustered Dominion newscaster, "what this means for protoss relations with the Council and Council affiliates remains unknown."

Alexei, arms folded, watched the newscaster break down what they knew about the protoss's arrival – chiefly that it was big and controversial, and has indeed resulted in a terrorist attack almost immediately. To his left, watching the vidscreen with similarly narrowed eyes, Rear Admiral Mikhailovich cast him a look.

"Thoughts?" he asked. "I was under the impression that the protoss would not be making an appearance.

"Thoughts." Alexei snorted, looking back to the vidscreen which now displayed a reading of the massive protoss vessel, _Spear of Adun._ "The protoss appear to be suffering from a mid-life crisis … and a severe deficit of charisma. My only thought is to either let this situation devolve on its own … or perhaps give it a little push."

"Political destabilization, then?" Mikhailovich snorted. "I'm thinking the 'toss are out to try and mend some bridges – isn't that what the news said?" Alexei nodded. "Pretty likely to deteriorate, then. It's not easy to just show up out of nowhere and start dictating everything."

 _Not that we would know anything about that._ Alexei chewed on his lip, watching as the UNN news report turned to the recent devastation of the ITSA. _And Gerard was sure to take footage. Foresight, perhaps? How hard would it be to…?_ Alexei shook his head. _We need to make further inroads first. Once the Council sends a delegation to meet with us, then we can begin._

 _Speaking of…_

"The Raiders should be arriving shortly, if this Illusive Man can be believed," said Alexei, checking the clock on the wall. "They may have further data on the protoss. I doubt they will share it, hence why EDI will be taking control of their adjutant."

"You need me with you?" asked Mikhailovich, prompting Alexei to shake his head.

"No. I need you on patrol around Agria while I handle this exchange. Any day now I expect those news reports to turn to our invasion – but I suspect that will happen after the Dominion begins launching their counterpunch." Alexei rubbed the stubble on his beard, glancing at the still active vidscreen. _No sign of Duke's fat face._ The man slipped through their nets at Demon's Fair, his dreadnought punching through UED lines while the general screamed obscenities at them over tightbeam. _Truly, a man to be revered and followed for his candor._ From there, Alexei suspected the general had jumped to either Char or Antiga Prime to begin the journey back to the Core. _We'll be following you soon enough._

"Aye aye, Vice Admiral," replied Mikhailovich, rising and saluting. He exited the room while Alexei watched the Dominion robot, Donny Vermillion, spout a mechanical condolence to the ITSA families before moving on to the KMC conflict. _Yes. That's about to become an even larger concern of yours._

"EDI – alert Lieutenant Duran and the _Normandy_ ground team," said Alexei, casting a quick glance up at the ceiling, as if the AI was really looking down on him like some machine god. "And I want a status report on those asari."

"Tests are being run on the Dominion asari as we speak," reported the AI. "They have been kept separate from all other prisoners and stripped of their translators. Two of the asari demonstrated proficiency in English and were processed."

"So they've been mating with colonials." Alexei grunted, wondering if any of the remaining aliens had been intelligent enough to keep that knowledge to themselves. "I want them vivisected. Plenty of biological data and no risk of escape or infiltration. Relay that order."

"At once, Vice Admiral." Alexei nodded, satisfied at the efficiency of communication through the AI. The work load had not diminished, but access to Dylar and what was left of its shipyards, coupled with the influx of food from Agria, meant that the average soldier felt far less irritable than a few days ago. Maintenance and morale issues were disappearing. _Several swift victories help as well._

"Vice Admiral, we have detected a ship in transit towards Agria," reported EDI, making Alexei lift his eyebrows. "They have broadcast over tightbeam…" The machine clicked. "Vice Admiral, it appears to be Raynor's Raiders, ahead of schedule. What are your orders?"

"When in range, initiate cybernetic infiltration of their adjutant." Alexei paused, thinking, thumb scraping against the hair on his chin. "Send Anderson's team, including Duran, to the portside airlock, and tell the Raiders to position themselves alongside us. Notify Admiral DuGalle that I will be meeting with Jim Raynor … and to check Universe News Network channels. We have protoss to deal with."

"At once, Vice Admiral." Alexei nodded again and exited his office. The vidscreen shut off upon his exit, leaving Alexei once again impressed at the utility of the fleet-wide AI. Alexei stifled a yawn as he strode through the busy corridors of the _Aleksander_ , hiding any semblance of weakness or indeed any emotion other than impatience as he cut his way through the crowds of crewmen. EDI's continual status reports and updates to crewmen at large echoed through the tight hallways of the ship, this time making the hair on the back of Alexei's neck bristle. _That machine is truly omnipresent. If something were to go wrong … and there is definite precedent for it to go wrong…_ He swallowed that fear, trying to drive it back with angry indifference. _We are committed, the AI cannot be hacked, and it has already proven its worth eight or nine times over. There is no more reason to fear the AI than there is a simple mutiny._

When Alexei descended upon the portside airlock, he felt the urge to suppress a wave of shock at Captain Anderson's appearance. His skin looked tinged with a distinct whiteness, and his drawn eyes sported fresh wrinkles. _Your hit was incredible, Captain, and it bought us everything we needed and more. To see the cost up close, to a man I respect … you have my sympathies._

The rest of the team seemed lively enough, however. Duran watched from a corner while the other five saluted, betraying no emotion beyond rapt attention. _Well … and Anderson's pain._ The medic in particular kept casting glances at the ever so slightly hunched form of the Captain, conjuring a new wave of anxiety within Alexei. _If we were to lose the hero of Luna Base…_ He clicked his tongue.

"At ease." The squad slumped … Anderson perhaps more than the others. Duran turned his neck to either side, cracking it, and approached, having ignored any of the proceedings. _Insolent … but I am not DuGalle. I see the need for his ilk, even if I would shed no tears at his passing._ "Captain. How do you fare?"

"Better, sir," reported Anderson, his voice at least sounding stronger than he looked. "Eager to finally meet this Raynor face to face. And, forgive me for saying so, eager to move my team away from the front of the push. It's the marines' turn to do the damage for a while."

"Indeed," said Alexei, smiling at the thought of Earth's … not finest, definitely not finest, but certainly most _energetic_ soldiers being deployed, wave after wave, against the colonials. "You have certainly done your part already in making the way ahead easier for the grunts. Admiral DuGalle and I have the utmost faith in your coming assignments."

"What about them?" asked Shepard, nodding toward the airlock. Alexei looked to the door and pursed his lips.

"I expect they will see reason," said Alexei, eyes narrowed. "The past six years have offered Jim Raynor precious few opportunities to strike against the Dominion, let alone dethrone the good Emperor Mengsk. I suppose it may become a matter of how much Raynor knows – or thinks he knows – about Earth history."

" _Norad II_ is docking alongside _Aleksander_ now, Vice Admiral," said EDI, and this time Alexei shared in the obvious discomfort of Anderson's team. _Why did it go insane on Luna? A rounding error? What are the odds it happens again?_

"Speak only when spoken to, people," said Anderson, directing his attention to his team. He exchanged a tired glance with Alexei. "Any idea what to expect?" Alexei only gave a faint shake of his head, listening to the faint hissing of the airlock as the colonial docking tube latched to it. _Raynor is to some extent a known element, but his ties with the Illusive Man make me nervous. Hopefully EDI can plumb some worthwhile information on that bastard from their adjutant._

They all watched with bated breath as the airlock door hissed, the faintest crack appearing from the center. Slowly, it opened. Beyond it, clad in full armor, stood the colonials backed by…

"Was bringing the krogan truly necessary?" asked Alexei, raising an eyebrow even as his heart jolted and began hammering. The colonials, clad in blue armor, advanced into the ship two by two, their bearing neutral, their guns pointed to the floor. Even so, Alexei noted a distinct lack of armor and weaponry among his peers. Anderson exchanged a furtive, worried glance with Alexei, who kept his gaze fixed on the central colonial – the one in black armor, with a skull sprayed over the faceplate. The colonial turned back, and the visor cracked open.

"I was kinda expectin' you boys to show up with an armed escort or somethin'," said the weathered looking Jim Raynor, peering over the lip of his own helmet, staring down at all of them. "UED, right?"

"That is correct, Captain," replied Alexei, maintaining his stiff bearing even in the face of a surprising amount of colonial firepower. "I am Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov, of the United Earth Directorate. I was hoping to keep our meeting friendly … and discreet." _I suppose I can leave out the fact that this part of the ship is covered in automated defense systems. I might not walk out of here if you opened fire, Raynor, but neither would you._

"You speak good English for a foreigner," said Raynor, making Alexei cock an eyebrow.

"Guns," muttered the krogan, indicating to Alexei for the first time that their own translators were working. The massive alien nodded to the barely visible hinges visible all over the walls and floor. "Auto turrets. One hand offered in friendship. The other holding a gun."

"Huh." Raynor rolled his head in his helmet. "Shame. Was startin' to feel all cozy. And I ain't the captain, Stukov, that would be Matt Horner. I just beat people up so he can keep flyin' his ship."

"As you say," said Alexei, watching the krogan, who paid no mind to the proceedings in favor of lightly running his hand along the walls, feeling out the crevices where the guns were hidden. _That's an alien standing before us. At long last … and I can feel nothing more than irritation._ The creature looked enormous, hulking in its own red armor at about ten feet. When it turned to glance at Stukov, visor down, it revealed a scaly looking head, topped with a red fringe flanked by similarly red eyes. _When nature colors organisms red, it is usually to show that the organism means business. Or as a means of attracting mates._ Neither appealed to Alexei.

"With us are the heroes of Luna Base, men and women committed to the furtherance of Earth's influence and the overthrow of Arcturus Mengsk," continued Alexei, trying to draw his attention away from the massive alien. "Captain Anderson, who leads them. Commander Shepard, a combat medic. Lieutenant Alenko, a combat engineer. Chief Williams, a heavy weapons expert. And Corporal Jenkins." Each nodded in turn, while Jenkins just looked confused. Alexei stopped at Duran. "I am uncertain – have you two met already?"

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Raynor," said Duran, stepping forward with the widest smile Alexei had seen him wear yet. He stepped forward and exchanged a surprisingly warm handshake with the colonial leader. "Please – discard any hesitance or doubts about these gentlemen for the time being. The Dylarian Shipyards have already fallen to them, a greater accomplishment than the KMC can claim in all their years of rivalry. They have also, as I am sure you will be gratified to hear, driven the illustrious General Duke back to Korhal with his proverbial tail between his legs. Mr. Raynor – I think this is it."

"Yeah?" Raynor sniffed, casting his gaze over the UED personnel before him. To Shepard's everlasting credit, she smiled back at him. _The only person aside from Duran who could muster a smile. Well done, commander._ Raynor's gaze seemed to soften. "Alright. We brought you Urdnot Wrex, fresh from the KM line on Proctor III. You touch him, and everything goes to hell, got it? I don't care if you sent Duke home cryin' to his mother; I promised him you guys were on the level."

"We have no designs on the krogan," said Alexei, watching Wrex's attention very quickly shift to the proceedings, one hand still on the seam of a hidden turret. "Wrex, you are the first alien I have ever spoken to, the first to ever board a UED vessel. Be welcome, and know that you have made history."

"I've got no patience for alien niceties," said the krogan, now facing Alexei and revealing a long pink tongue and large, square looking _plentiful_ teeth as he spoke. He jerked a hand towards Raynor. "He said something about curing the Genophage, but _you_ have no designs on me? I'm going to need one hell of an incentive to stick around this death trap of a ship."

"The UED's chief talents lie within the medical fields, Mr. Wrex," said Alexei, drawing a snort from the krogan. "We will need a substantial amount of data before we can make any claims – but we have every intention of looking into your people's plight."

"For non-selfish, entirely wholesome reasons, right?" asked Raynor, his voice light even though the implicit sarcasm was heavy. "I don't know what the hell you "UED" folks are about, but I suffered through a few history classes in my time. Earth's showed up with an army. What do you want?"

"To overthrow Arcturus Mengsk," said Shepard, stepping forward before Alexei could speak, looking behind her at her squadmates.

"To unify our peoples, both earthborn and colonial," said Williams, stepping forward as well. _Ah, I see._ Anderson seemed to have caught on as well, and followed suit.

"To make certain the galaxy becomes aware of the travesty that was Tarsonis, and that the Council is held responsible," said Anderson, his voice stern even as his face looked increasingly drawn.

"To bring our advances in medicine and agriculture to the Koprulu Sector, in exchange for the industry and resources of the people there," said Alenko, drawing a nod from Alexei. _Fancy the engineer saying that._

"All … of the above?" Jenkins stepped forward, and then stepped back while Alexei resisted the urge to thrust his face into his sweaty palms.

"Heh." Raynor looked at the assembled team, lips twitching. "You brought real believers, didn't you, Admiral?"

"We have traveled many millions of miles to be here, Mr. Raynor. No one present can be said to lack conviction. Perhaps brains, but not conviction." Jenkins winced at the last part.

"Just what the galaxy needed, more terrans hell-bent on killing other terrans," rumbled Wrex.

"Humans," said Alexei, stressing the first syllable. "Earth is back. We are all of the planet … even if you are not from it. I suppose a personal goal of mine would be to remove that word from common parlance."

"Not gonna happen," said Raynor, looking to the other colonials with their visors still up and exchanging exaggerated nods. "That's a word we're proud of. Earned it. The folks who exited them prison ships mighta been human, but it's been terran ever since. Terran here on out."

"If you say so." Alexei did not care to argue the point at such an early juncture. "Mr. Raynor, I suspect I already know the answer to this question, but are you and your men willing to remove your arms and armor before meeting somewhere more privately on this ship?"

"Not a chance in hell, man." Raynor's gaze locked with Alexei's who finally managed a smile on his own.

"There is likewise no chance of us boarding your vessel, so here we shall stay." Alexei motioned for his team to sit down in the handful of chairs in the waiting area, while Raynor and his team remained standing. Duran paused at Raynor's side before joining Anderson and the others. Alexei, feeling awkward while just standing there, but unwilling to assume any position of even relative weakness, remained in place, staring up at the bemused face of the colonial leader.

"You in charge of this Armada?" asked Raynor, making Alexei wish the person who was in charge, Gerard, was here to reprimand this colonial.

"That would be Admiral Gerard DuGalle," replied Alexei, "not quite as patient a man as I, as Lieutenant Duran would surely attest to. He leads this Expeditionary Armada while I handle more delicate affairs." _I shudder to think what he would say if he spoke with this man. He can barely handle what he perceives as "insolence" from Duran._ "Would you like me to explain why we have brought you here, Mr. Raynor, or do you have any more questions that could not possibly wait a single minute?"

Raynor looked behind him at the three other colonials, then at the krogan. "Anyone got anything they want to ask?" The rest of the colonials muttered in the negative while Wrex's eyes just bored into Alexei's head, making him intensely aware of the thin ice he stood on. "Guess not. You're clear then, Stukov."

"I must politely insist you refer to me by my title, Mr. Raynor," said Alexei, his jaw setting almost involuntarily. "Vice Admiral or simply "Admiral" is fine. I worked hard for this title, as I am sure you worked hard for your previous title of captain."

Raynor shrugged. "Alright man, sure. Vice Admiral."

"It's a start." Alexei's thoughts turned to the pack of cigars left in his room. _I doubt these inbred colonials would even mind_ _if I lit up in front of them. It's probably unusual to them that I haven't already._ Only the presence of fellow humans prevented that fantasy from becoming reality, much to the detriment of Alexei's own fraying nerves.

"We have been observing the galaxy for quite some time, ladies and gentlemen," said Alexei, assuming that at least one colonial underneath the armor was a woman simply for the sake of avoiding embarrassment. "While I confess our interest waned in the early years, the presence of extraterrestrial life within your vicinity jumpstarted the formation of the Directorate, and the existence of this Expeditionary Armada. Given the volatile nature of the galaxy, and the peoples within it, we saw it as necessary to act as a unifying force … using violence wherever no other options presented themselves."

"I've seen a song and dance like this one before, Vice Admiral," replied Raynor. "It led to a planet having the zerg sicced on it. What is this gonna be? Another case of "we gotta save this galaxy by brutalizin' everyone in our way?" What makes you different, Vice Admiral? What makes you better than Mengsk?"

Alexei glowered at the man before counting off on his fingers. "We do not practice resocialization, we have no intent of weaponizing the zerg in any fashion, we place paramount importance on the preservation of human lives which is evidenced through our emphasis on advanced medicine both on and off the battlefield, we wish to enact isolationist policies to distance humanity from the self-serving Council, and we intend to spread the word of Tarsonis far and wide." Alexei shrugged irritably. "For bonus points, we do not practice slavery and are looking into this "Reaper" threat. If it is judged as something that demands immediate action, then that is where we will focus our attention. Satisfied?"

"Sure." Jim's expression did not change.

"The current plan is to continue our assault upon the Dominion," said Alexei, beginning to pace before the colonials and krogan, his legs feeling leaden while he did so. "However, this is a short term goal. Mengsk must die – his crimes are unforgivable. While your assistance in such matters would be appreciated, Mr. Raynor, I had something else in mind for you. I needed someone with your connections, resources, and standing. I needed someone independent in command of a colonial vessel. I also needed a krogan battlemaster." Alexei exchanged another glance with Wrex again, trying to calm the uneasy sensation in his stomach at the sight of the creature's gaze.

"While DuGalle has been granted the difficult if relatively straightforward task of ending Mengsk's reign through military means, I was told to look beyond his fall. At present, I see three major concerns: a lack of evidence with which to present the events of Tarsonis as absolute fact, a deficit of friendly faces and means of spreading influence outside the Koprulu Sector, and an unknown force attacking human colonies within Council space. Have you been informed? The ITSA has been hit – Eden Prime bleeds."

Alexei watched Raynor carefully. His reaction appeared muted – a certain narrowing of the eyes, a movement of the lips, a faint tightening of the grip around the gun. The other colonials looked to each other, and Alexei thought he heard a muted gasp.

"Didn't know that," said Raynor shortly. "I got my own problems with the ITSA, but they're good folk as a whole. Been away for a while. And we all … have friends there. How'd you find out about this?"

"UNN," said Alexei shortly. "The finer details might be laced with obvious propaganda, but the broad strokes are always accurate. The protoss have reappeared at the Citadel as well. The only major event they are not covering so far … has been us."

"Huh." Raynor's face hardened, his expression putting Alexei in mind of petrified wood. "I'll be doin' some fact checking. But if what you say is true … and if Harper says you guys were on the level … then maybe we can work together. But the minute I see anything untowards, we're out. Got it?"

"Understandable." Alexei looked back at Anderson's team behind him, willing them to keep the adage of loose lips and sinking ships in mind for the missions ahead. "I need you to take aboard a stealth frigate and her crew. She is spaceworthy but of a completely different ship design than anything in the Koprulu Sector and would not go unnoticed. The team behind me have proven themselves in battle and will assist you with what I have in mind."

"Firstly: evidence for Tarsonis. I have been informed by your "Illusive Man" that an old colonial adjutant has recently been acquired by one Donovan Hock. The adjutant was heavily encrypted by the Confederacy and Hock cannot access its records. He nevertheless refuses to turn it over to anyone, even knowing that it was unearthed from Tarsonis's orbital command center. I think that would be an excellent place to start, wouldn't you?"

"Not the worst," admitted Raynor. "Sure my word wouldn't be enough? I could probably get an old friend of mine to testify as well – she was there."

"You speak of Sarah Kerrigan?" Alexei's lips twitched. "No … I do not think that would be necessary, or any more credible. The offer is appreciated, however. And I have my doubts about her willingness."

Raynor shrugged. "Last I checked, she still has her doubts about her decision, while I got none about mine. She said it made her think."

Alexei checked Duran in the corner. His smile no longer played on his face, and Alexei resisted the urge to palm his face again. _It's Jenkins, isn't it? He's thinking about Kerrigan's status as a race traitor and cannot keep the damn ghost out of his head._ Duran, however, remained silent. _I am starting to fear that ghost. He is far too much of an enigma._ Alexei still cleared his throat and pushed onward.

"The Illusive Man informed me of some kind of heist being planned," continued Alexei, trying to avoid wincing at his own lack of data on what, precisely, the Illusive Man planned on doing. "I would speak to him for further details. If all else fails, you have my personal permission to storm whatever tacky palace Hock resides in and gun down everyone who stands in your path, but that is obviously not ideal. I will leave it to our mutual friend to provide alternatives."

"Second: we judge the Genophage as worth curing, if not for ethical reasons, than for geopolitical ones. The Council is too strong and their interests too embedded in the Koprulu Sector for the UED to sit comfortably once Mengsk is gone. A krogan resurgence, executed properly, could adjust the power enough that the Council would be temporarily unbalanced … but it would take an old and incredibly capable leader and combatant to lead the krogan into a future where they are not erased completely." Alexei looked to Wrex. "I will be blunt – you are the best we could get on short notice. I do not know your history and I do not know your character. I do not know how your people views positions of authority and responsibility – humans at the least, seek them out. Crave them. I need you to be the figurehead of the krogan rebirth. I need you to embody your people's resurgence."

"Ambitious." Wrex mercifully looked away for the first time since Alexei had begun the meeting in full. _In a fucking waiting room just outside the airlock because neither side trusts the other to step any further forward. I wonder what Gerard will say?_ The krogan looked back to him, his head tilted slightly to the side. For all Alexei knew, to a krogan that signified an intent to eat the person in front of him. "How do you plan to cure the Genophage?"

"We need extensive biological data, not just on the krogan as a whole, but on the Genophage in particular," said Alexei, tapping his new omnitool and pulling up a picture of the krogan he intended them to capture. "There are numerous places to acquire said data: the Umojan Protectorate, the Salarian Union, the krogan themselves … but this would be the easiest, relatively speaking. Warlord Okeer, exiled from Tuchanka for his experiments with the zerg, currently located on Korlus doing … something heinous, I am sure." Alexei tapped the omnitool again, and the image faded. "He is responsible for the infested krogan plaguing your homeworld, and a rather liberal approach to experimentation on your people besides. We need him alive. We need his research intact. We do not plan on aping his methods, but simply making use of his data. No one has a firmer grasp of krogan physiology or the Genophage as he."

"You want to capture a monster." Wrex grunted, but it sounded somewhat committal. "I've tangled with viscerators. Okeer needs to be put in the ground, not in one of your labs."

"We need him for a cure." Alexei stood firm, and refused to back away even as Wrex issued what might have been a low growl. "He has what we need. When we are done with him, I will leave him in your care. What you do then is up to you."

"Good enough." Wrex's stare seemed to become less openly hostile … but Alexei knew that he should still tread lightly. _This is a good wake up call to the true dangers of aliens. I do not envy anyone who has to face this monster in battle._

"Finally: the UED is fully aware that there are significant elements of galactic history that we do not fully understand. The Reapers, protoss, protheans, and xel'naga are insufficiently documented, and this is a major concern. I believe that these recent attacks on the ITSA, which by all accounts left no trace of the people living there, are linked to these known unknowns. Raynor, your relationship with the protoss is known, if not understood. When the other two tasks are done, I need you to begin an investigation into the attacks through any means necessary. Interrogate the protoss, the geth, _anyone_ who might have an inkling as to what happened. If humanity is under attack, I do not trust the current heads of colonial governments to adequately defend it."

"But you will?" Raynor raised an eyebrow. "You think you got what it takes?"

"I am asking you to find out," retorted Alexei, "but tell me: how much faith do _you_ place in the likes of Donovan Hock and Arcturus Mengsk?" Alexei issued a sharp bark of laughter when Raynor failed to respond. "I thought as much. These attacks need to be addressed – perhaps even before Korhal falls. Are we in agreement?"

"I'll see what I can dig up." Raynor did not sound happy. "You sure the, uh, "Illusive Man" doesn't have anything on this?"

"He claims he keeps his eyes on the Dominion and KMC for the most part," said Alexei, again disgusted at his lack of intel on the blasted man. "The ITSA is certainly a long ways from Moria. He might be more forthright with you, but I could get no more out of him." _And dared not try … damn it, I witnessed what happened on Eden Prime. If there was a single survivor…_

"Alright." Jim nodded once, then twice. "Alright. We can do this. We can take your frigate and your folks, and we can … get to work on them other things. Wrex – you okay with this?"

"For now." Wrex shifted in place. "Stukov. Don't cross me. If you lie – I've always wondered what terran tastes like."

Alexei did not bother to respond, looking back at the _Normandy_ ground team. "You will accompany these Raiders and assist in their operations. The frigate is to be used wherever discretion is necessary." He looked back to Raynor. "On a regular battlecruiser it would not fit – but the _Norad II_ is no ordinary warship, is it? You may still be forced to clear space in your hangar. Captain Anderson can brief you on the ship's capabilities." He turned back to the ground team. "Do not fail us. Do not shame me. You are being given a considerable amount of both freedom and responsibility. The last two operations have proven you all capable enough, but this will go beyond anything you people have done before. Are you ready?"

"We did not come this far just to lose our nerve, sir," replied Anderson as his team, sans Duran, stood and saluted. "We'll see this through."

"And _you_ ," said Alexei, glaring at the Lieutenant, who sent back an innocent smile. "You are to go with them. Hopefully by the time you return, your presence in the Armada will not fill me with unease. Go."

"Of course … Admiral." Duran hopped to his feet. "And the rest of my team?"

"The Illusive Man has requested their return, and so they will be sent back to Moria," said Alexei, trying to resist gritting his teeth. "Behave yourself, Duran. Captain – keep an eye on him, but do not hesitate to make use of him."

"Didn't stop me before, sir," replied Anderson, glaring at the beaming face of the ghost. "Come on. Time to brief the rest of the _Normandy_ crew." The team left. Wrex left. Raynor waved off the other colonials, leaving only him and Alexei.

"One other thing," he said, stepping before Alexei and towering over him, his face contorting with emotion. "When it's time to knock on Mengsk's door over on Korhal, I want to be there. I got a revolver up in my bedroom, loaded with one round. Guess who it's meant for?"

"I will relay your desires to Admiral DuGalle." Alexei did not flinch. "Rest assured – he and I well understand the satisfaction of vengeance, the drive to kill one who has wronged you and the ones you love. At the very least … I can guarantee you a place in the Armada when the time comes to end all this."

Raynor stepped back, eyes narrowed, trying to pierce Alexei's expression and see into his mind. _You need Sarah Kerrigan for that, friend. But for this … my intent is genuine. I will see you on Korhal, and a large part of me relishes the poetic justice you describe. I would pay to see Mengsk twitching in the dust, a bullet in the back of his head._

"I read my histories," said Raynor slowly. "You Earth folk – a man can change, but if you guys changed, why the hell would you come out here to build an empire?" He shook his head. "Whatever. If you're here to right a few wrongs, I ain't gonna stop you. And if one of them wrongs is Mengsk…" He ground his teeth, which Alexei noted were surprisingly white. "Fuck. We'll see. But you best be on the level, man. Vice Admiral. Whatever."

"You cannot afford to turn us down, Mr. Raynor," said Alexei, his voice only a hair above a whisper, "and if anyone were to deal the killing blow to Mengsk, I would be disappointed if it were anyone other than you."

Raynor's grip on his gun tightened, and Alexei could imagine the knuckles whitening beneath the suit. Then he turned on his heel without a word, the airlock door hissing shut behind him. Alexei, exhausted, tried to resist the urge to take a seat and begin some deep breathing. _Not yet._

"EDI – alert the technicians and let them know we are loading the _Normandy_ on to _Norad II_." Alexei marched out of the room, making a beeline for his office, the other crew members shifting around him, actively avoiding his passage.

"Acknowledged, Vice Admiral."

Once inside his office, Alexei shut the door behind him and leaned against it, the air leaving his body in a steady stream of released stress.

"EDI – progress on the adjutant?" He almost didn't want to continue after that little confrontation, but with time so against them, he could not hesitate to perform his duty. "Anything on the protoss, the Illusive Man, anything?"

"The adjutant was devoid of worthwhile information, Vice Admiral," said EDI, the electronic inflection sounding … embarrassed?

"Anything would be useful, EDI," snapped Alexei, seeking out the cigars within his desk, then the decanter of whiskey, planting each beside his computer. He sat with a wheeze, grateful that the past unpleasantness was past. _And Duran will be well away from the fleet._

"Vice Admiral, I am not certain you would find this information to be of any use whatsoever," persisted the AI to Alexei's growing rage and bafflement.

"Relay it to my workstation _now_ , you glorified calculator!" Alexei shook his fist at the ceiling, again as if EDI were some mechanical god who in this case, had failed him.

"Relaying the information, Vice Admiral."

Something popped up on Alexei's computer. Alexei quickly poured a glass of whiskey before shifting to his mouse, clicking on the file.

"What in the-"

Images of- of _elcor_ in various states of what Alexei suspected were undress flashed across his screen. Elcor mounting each other, placing parts of each other into their weird looking mouths-

"EDI," said Alexei, his rage running white hot, a vein pulsing in his forehead. "Why is there-" he quickly checked, "-nine hundred gigabytes of elcor porn on here?"

"The adjutant bore signs of having been cleaned out of all other data, Vice Admiral," replied the AI, sounding, again, _embarrassed?_ "This was all that remained. I was not certain how to communicate what had transpired."

Alexei stared at the lurid images of the elcor flashing across his screen. _This – this is brilliant. They knew exactly what we would do._ A low whistle escaped Alexei's lips before graduating into mad cackling. He raised his glass.

 _This was no doing of Raynor's. It is too clever. Too perfect. He knew. Damn him he knew. So – Illusive Man, I raise my glass to you in toast. The board is set, the opening moves concluded. Now, we will see who can keep a better eye on the pieces._ Alexei took a sip and closed the file, determination setting in where once there had been exhaustion.

"Let the games begin."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Selendis**


	17. Citadel Hospitality

**Selendis**

The keeper finished the last touches on the now expanded doorway, its mind resonating firmly in the present; the only image Selendis could parse within the creature's mind was the door, applying each layer of caustic saliva, the twitching of its fingers. No higher functions lingered within its insectoid brain – no semblance of ego, of hope or desire. _This creature is as sentient as my psi blades. Or a table. Even the feral zerg, mindless as they are, projected some degree of a consciousness working within. But this?_

The keeper turned away from Selendis and padded off in no apparent hurry, its thoughts preoccupied only with the movement of its legs, the feel of the Citadel's floor against its feet. If it left Aldaris's office for another task, Selendis found no indication of such within the keeper. It vanished from view, the saliva left upon the doorway hardening, now fully able to comfortably fit even Fenix's mighty frame. _Courteous. The creatures lack any sign of intelligence, yet they understand and practice courtesy._

"These people have failed to question the most fundamental aspects of the lives they live here," complained Aldaris from his new desk, eyes shut while his fingers shivered above a glowing khaydarin crystal. Selendis turned to face him, straightening. "For how many years have they lived among these keepers? I seek the minds of all around me and know the answer to be more than a millennia. Do they know from whence these creatures came? They do not. Have they communicated with them in any fashion? They have not. Who built this Citadel? Why? How is it that so little progress has been made in answering questions so fundamental?"

"I recall the Conclave forbidding access to xel'naga temples," replied Selendis, making Aldaris's eyes snap open. "Some believe discovering these answers will not be worth the effort … or will unearth something inconvenient. For most, it simply has not occurred to them. The keepers self-destruct upon being scanned. Disturbing them is forbidden for their sake. They do not strangle the flow of knowledge for selfish purposes. Judicator."

Aldaris's fingers closed, and the crystal flared before falling silent. He glared at Selendis from his new desk courtesy of the Council, which commendably enough fit his size, even when most of the Citadel still did not.

"Have you made any progress on the attack?" snapped Aldaris, rising from his seat. "You have kept a close eye on me, for what it is worth, but I am hardly liable to cause any further problems for our people. These "rogue" Nerazim on the other hand-"

"I was sternly informed to keep our people to themselves until either C-Sec or the assigned Spectres conducted the preliminary stages of the investigation." Selendis stood her ground, trying to stop the ember of rage within her from sparking. "They believe protoss presence would further exacerbate any tensions … and the lingering presence of the _Spear of Adun_ is not helping matters. I would kindly suggest we return the vessel to Aiur."

"You think _I_ was the one who wanted it here?" Aldaris shook his head, broadcasting disbelief. "I cannot return the ship without the permission of the Hierarch, and he has repeatedly denied my requests. He believes that the protoss should prevent a strong front at all times, to reassure the "lesser races" of our invincibility. I have been unable to convince him so far that its continued presence is not only personally vexing, it is hindering negotiations."

"I was not aware." _That does not alter my feelings of disgust over your convictions in the slightest._

"I do not need your approval," said Aldaris, apparently catching her emotions. "I need at least one place in the Citadel to call my own, fully my own, and the presence of a Nerazim – one of the first no less – would not be conducive to my wellbeing. So they will have their space, and I will have mine. Spare me the self-righteousness, Executor; you need only spend ten minutes with Sparatus to realize I am far from the greatest threat to intragalactic unity on this station." Aldaris grunted, his hand clasping his side, where he had taken the wound during the attack. _A warp blade raked his side. It will not help engender any positive emotions toward our Dark Templar brothers and sisters … and I am told those wounds take years to fully heal. Void energies are a terrifying thing._

"Go," he muttered, sitting unsteadily upon his seat. "C-Sec has had more than enough time. Seek them out … and do whatever it takes to track down these foul traitors." Selendis nodded slowly, prompting a sharp burst of relief and approval from the Judicator. "Go. And try not to provoke the Council races. I have a hard enough job as it is."

"Of course, Judicator," said Selendis, bowing stiffly and removing herself from the office. The door slid shut behind her while Aldaris focused his attentions towards numbing the pain he felt. For a moment, Selendis could not help but feel a stab of sympathy. _He will recover. I am sure of it._ She descended the stairs with a heavy tread, trying to decide where to direct her own attentions first.

The asari secretary so … thoughtfully … provided by the Council proved to be the first obstacle.

"Executor Selendis," said the asari, nodding from her desk even as her chest came alive with _awe_ at being in so close a proximity to a protoss, _relief_ that she recalled both the name and title of the female protoss standing before her. And another emotion. One that produced disgust in Selendis, made her fight the urge to recoil. "I hope everything goes well. Is Councilor Aldaris ready for his next meeting? Madame Tevos has been awaiting this meeting with great anticipation."

 _Yes. I am sure she has._ Selendis stared down at the asari, who blinked in a mixture of mounting anxiety and confusion. _At least I do not detect any hatred. The asari at the very least will not hold grudges against us for certain actions taken or not taken during the Great War … even with their homeworld lying in ruins. That will have to be corrected._

"Aldaris will notify you when he is ready, good secretary," said Selendis. "Kindly inform the Councilor that I am again thankful for her provision of aid to Aldaris during the attack. Now – I must seek out C-Sec and uncover the vile beings responsible for the aforementioned atrocity."

"Of course, Executor," replied the secretary, smiling brightly and tapping a few keys – a note to herself. Her thoughts reflected bewilderment at the … _archaic? She considers our manner of speaking pretentious and archaic?! It is no fault of ours that the thoughts and mannerisms of other races are so disorganized and imprecise!_ Selendis again calmed herself and focused her mind, trying to seek out the hard edges of the minds making up C-Sec headquarters and ordering a teleport – only to be distracted by a sharp stab of memory from the secretary.

"Oh! There was a protoss visitor for the Matriarch. He expressed a desire to see you. The strangest thing – he had two quarians and a geth with him. His name was…" The asari flipped through her notes before frowning. _Why do all of the protoss have such strange names?_ Selendis struggled to contain her amusement. "…Zeratul. A … Prelate. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that position on the protoss hierarchy. Shall I leave him a message?"

"I will see him immediately," said Selendis, passing the secretary desk without hesitation. The secretary, Selendis sensed, thought about yelling another question at her retreating figure before thinking better of it. _Yes. I was tired of that conversation._

The doorway to the Dark Templar embassy stood just as high as Aldaris's office, something for which Selendis felt duly thankful. The soft intonations of people within could be heard through the doorway, making Selendis shake her head. _The Nerazim are capable warriors, but their reliance on verbal communication is truly baffling. Particularly given the presence of so many electronic bugs courtesy of the salarians._ At Aldaris's suggestion, she had returned the bugs to the salarian embassy, resisting the urge to place them all in a big pile before their councilor and setting light to them with her mind.

Stepping through the threshold, Selendis could not help but feel a stab of fear as the light dimmed upon entry, a sensation linked to the primal Khalai fear of light starvation. _The Nerazim have lived in perpetual twilight. You will survive this brief spell of darkness._ From the deeper shadows flickered twin sets of eyes; Zeratul and Razagal. Arrayed before them, the two quarians assigned to the rescue mission, standing apart from the empty yet glorious being known as a geth.

"Executor," said Zeratul, stepping forth from the shadows in greeting. "I did not anticipate meeting you or the matriarch again in quite some time … it is reassuring to know that warriors such as yourself keep an eye on the rabble within this sector."

"Do not call them rabble, brave Zeratul," intoned Razagal, the outline of her face becoming visible. "If what you say is true, yet more tragedy lies on the horizon."

"Bad news?" asked Selendis after extending a tendril of intent towards her Nerazim brethren and finding herself politely rebuffed. She looked to each of the quarians. "Does Veetor'nara live?"

"We have retrieved him and placed him on the _Spear of Adun_ with his pilgrimage gift," said Zeratul. "A terran SCV. I am told it is a mighty offering. His health suffers, but he will recover."

"Aliens attacked Eden Prime," said the female quarian, Tali. Her thoughts and emotions, from what Selendis gathered, felt fiery and determined, with an underlying layer of anxiety. The image of a hanging terran ship flashed into view. She looked to her fellow quarian, the marine, and produced a small device from one of her suit's innumerable pockets. "We have the recording. A terran vessel showed up as well, and abandoned the colony. The stress drove Veetor mad … Eden Prime's entire capital has been abducted."

"Quite a feat," said Selendis carefully into the ensuing silence. The geth whirred and clicked at her words, watching her carefully. "There have been a string of attacks across terran space, correct? Matching abductions?"

"Correct," replied Razagal. "I spoke to the terran councilor. Early reports are in; the ITSA is on the warpath for their missing colonists. The batarians look likely to be blamed. This evidence should help direct their wrath at a more worthwhile target … if we can find it."

"Artanis should be informed," said Tali. "He can send the Golden Armada after these things, scour the stars before they cause any more trouble."

The other quarian coughed. "Not to sound controversial, miss Tali, but it'll be sunrise on Shakuras before the turians let the protoss go screwin' around in their space. 'Specially if we've got terrorism problems on both sides to clear up."

"This might be a matter to be solved with some degree of subtlety," said Razagal, provoking a nod from Selendis. "I would suggest first bringing this to the Council's attention … I have a feeling they will welcome being able to pin these attacks on a previously unknown exterior threat. And that ship's profile matches the ships over Braxis. Perhaps it is time you informed them of the interlopers, Selendis?"

 _There hasn't been a good time._ The quarians turned to look between the two protoss, confused, while Zeratul's already cool demeanor sunk into new frozen depths.

"New terrans to deal with?" he asked quietly.

"Millions of them, bearing an insignia of an avian creature sitting atop a pair of lightning bolts," replied Selendis, fingers twitching. "Let me see this recording." She activated the device.

 _These invaders are new. They match nothing I have ever seen before._ She exchanged a glance with Zeratul, broadcasting genuine confusion. _And they are hostile. Obviously hostile. But what could they want with terrans? Even the zerg had little use for the psi-blind fools._

She stopped the shaky footage at the image of the battlecruiser.

"That's them," she said sadly. "The same invaders of Braxis. They strike at the Dominion … and may be associated with these insectoids." She resumed the footage. Sure enough, the battlecruiser departed without firing a shot. "Strange. What did they achieve in this brief observation? What purpose could they have fulfilled?"

"Broad consensus within local programs concur likelihood of hostile tendencies of unknown terran faction," said the geth, surprising Selendis. _I can never get over the intelligence mixed with such … emptiness._ "Numerous factions friendly towards ITSA; unwillingness to defend ITSA citizens suggest broad antipathy to Council and Council affiliates. Recommend immediate notification of Council members."

"They could also simply be cowards," proposed Selendis, looking to each other sapient in the room to gauge their reaction. "It is not a shameful thing for someone not of the Templar to avoid battle. They were but a single ship."

"Part of an armada," pointed out Reegar. "If they're attacking the Dominion – something even the turians are a bit iffy 'bout trying – stands to reason that if they didn't defend this colony, it's because they didn't care about it. They got courage enough to assault the "Emperor of Mankind." So … not much of an excuse."

"They abandoned those people to an unknown fate," said Razagal, musing. Her eyes flicked to Zeratul. "You will be pursuing these aliens, won't you? I can feel your intentions, your outrage." _How? I look to the Prelate and can feel only the cold._

"Yes, I intend to," grunted Zeratul, if anything sounding annoyed that Razagal even had to ask. He looked to his companions. "I will take all the assistance I can get. If you are willing…"

"I would need permission from my father," said Tali, exchanging a glance with Reegar. "Although … given that this is a matter of importance…"

"I say we go, Tali," said Reegar firmly. "Forget the Admiralty Board; if they can't see the opportunity for the quarian people to expose these monsters and get back to being relevant, then there's no helping them. Besides, Shakuras was making me a little stir-crazy."

"Zeratul's wanderlust is infectious," said Razagal, chuckling. She looked to Selendis. "I myself would have been tempted to join were I only a little younger … but we have been blessed with responsibility, haven't we? While our friends probe the darkness, we must relay their findings to our allies."

"Yes," said Selendis, hands closing over the cold recording device. "I shall bring this to the Spectres. Their influence with the Council will allow this to reach their eyes far more quickly than any further bleating from Aldaris." She secured the evidence within the folds of her armor, away from prying eyes. _I shall have to go on foot. Allies or not, the Spectres will not take kindly to my teleporting in amongst them. They value their secrecy, likely with good reason._

"Adun toridas, my friends," said Selendis, inclining her head towards Zeratul and his companions. "I pray your own investigation goes well, and that you return to Shakuras with both speed and safety."

"And I pray that the people of this Citadel treat you with kindness and hospitality, Executor," replied Zeratul. "En taro Tassadar."

Selendis retreated from the darkened room, relief flooding her as she entered the light once more. _Now to cross the Presidium._ Curious how that filled her with trepidation, she who had seen battlefields beyond count on her own homeworld alone. _Do not disgrace yourself. They fear you as much as you fear losing control._

Selendis walked with as quiet a gait she could muster, given that she wore armor. Up ahead, across the bridge, lay the camp. _Journalists._ Long they had waited for a protoss to emerge from the embassy, and now Selendis had no recourse. She steeled herself, listening as their emotions spiked. _Shock and anticipation. Parasites._

Four of them approached her, eyes bleary from either lack of sleep or having just woken up in the case of the asari and terran, while the salarians' minds ran sharp and unhindered, their eyes checking her every movement. The hover cameras followed close behind, only retreating under Selendis's doleful stare.

"Executor Selendis!" called out the terran, a female terran whose thoughts turned continually back to the Dominion, to her emperor. _Wong. Tagged along with the Sons of Korhal. Attempting to waylay a protoss for an interview is one of the easier jobs you've had._ "The terran people have long been your neighbors in the Koprulu Sector. If you would be so kind as to answer some questions…"

Selendis stopped before them, towering over the journalists. To their credit, none of them shrunk back. _Dedication I can appreciate._

"With my answer comes the expectation that I will not be harassed in such a manner again," declared Selendis, looking to each of the parasites in turn. "It is my wish that the other races come to understand us and, in turn, cease to fear us. Ask your questions and leave this place."

"What are your intentions for the Terran Dominion?" asked Wong, likely by rote.

"To defend them against external threats, the same protection we extend to all less- all fellow sapients." _You are not Aldaris. However weak these beings be, they are worthy of respect. They have not spent the last six years pushing themselves to extinction._

"What are the protoss's plans regarding fleet buildup and continual aggression between the Salarian Union and Turian Hierarchy?" asked one of the salarians, whose thoughts betrayed his shorthand name as _Lem._ "Furthermore, how do the protoss plan to pacify the KMC/Hegemony alliance's ongoing conflict against the Dominion? They have entered open war."

 _Open war? While these fresh intruders press Braxis and the ITSA colonies vanish?_ Selendis's hearts thudded a little faster.

"A display of force where necessary," said Selendis carefully. "Such was enough to break apart the geth and quarians over Rannoch long enough for both sides to see reason. The greater threats looming on the horizon will be identified for all to see. No one will dare continue their petty conflicts while on the brink of annihilation." _Please, let this be true._

"You would kill men and women of the Dominion to do this?" asked Wong sharply. "If you had to?"

 _Is the implication not enough?_

"We will take whatever action necessary-"

"So you _would_ kill Dominion troops or civilians if it furthered your goals of unity?" pressed Wong, her mind sharp, demanding an answer. Selendis paused, and it was a mistake.

"You have already slain salarians with only verbal provocation," said Lem, voice quick. "Who determines to what degree species must cooperate? Are you expecting all governments to turn over all existing intel and military assets to further your agenda?"

"And if you are, what will happen if they say no? Can we expect further repeats of the massacre in the Tower?" continued the other salarian, whose name Selendis could not be bothered to catch as her vision and skin flashed red.

"We will not discriminate in favor of any faction!" snapped Selendis. "If fools insist on being fools, the protoss will insist on their becoming memories. Yes we expect full cooperation, and yes we are willing to use force in the case of extreme obstinacy, including against these foul Nerazim traitors. Dominion, Hierarchy, Union, Hegemony – we will brook no insolence from you. The choice is unity or extinction, and if lesser races decide upon the latter, know that the protoss will only be too happy to help them along!"

A ringing silence fell upon the journalists, leaving only the cameras to whir and click eagerly. _I … that was a mistake._

"Forgive my outburst," murmured Selendis, bringing her hands together in what she hoped was a placating gesture. "Please. The protoss mean no harm to your peoples, but what lies ahead must be averted. And only through total unity can this be accomplished."

"At long last, this one bears witness to the face of a Chosen!" A strange smell filled Selendis's mind, a smell of salt and liquid memory, the sound of waves gently breaking on empty shores. She turned, coming face to face with a translucent being suspended above the ground with a hum of energy, tendrils waving beneath. "This one smelled desire for unity and tasted dusty thoughts, and now here you stand!" A tendril of consciousness reached Selendis, stroking the outer barriers. Tentatively she reached out.

 _This one is Waits-Above-Waves._ The hanar glowed with excitement. _No face names for ones such as us. You waste time here, Executor. You risk further outbursts that will damage your chances. Proceed to the Spectres at once._

The thoughts were strong, coherent, and directed. _This hanar is a practiced psionic. Trained. This is strange. Most strange._ Nevertheless, she extended thanks to the strange being, Waits-Above-Waves.

"No further questions," Selendis murmured, parting the journalists with a sweep of her armored hand. She had given them all they had wanted anyway, even as she sensed regret from Wong. _It is not her own agenda she follows. Emperor Mengsk knows her by name._

She left them there with the hanar, whom they began to pelt with questions.

"This one shall humbly deign to respond with a short poem of this one's creation that this one feels relevant to your queries," proclaimed the hanar, all the while radiating extreme amusement as the journalists tried to contain their dismay. By the time they attempted to catch up with Selendis, she was before the elevator, waiting alongside an asari in slick blue battle armor.

"Got past those carrion eaters?" she asked with a wry smile, jerking a thumb behind her. "Sorry you had to deal with that. They're not the best of us." Selendis did not know what to say, and so remained silent. When she reached out to the asari, she found an unyielding wall of will. When she pressed, it was akin to pressing against the walls of a Nexus. No breaking in.

"Bound for the Spectre offices?" she asked, all smiles even as she swatted aside Selendis's gentle attempts at mental incursion. She extended a hand. "Tela Vasir, Spectre. I hope you have something on those Dark Templar. Council's been riding our asses about the lack of intel. Udina keeps using the phrase "political shitstorm," and we're not turning down free umbrellas, if you get my meaning."

"I carry vital data regarding the ITSA disappearances," said Selendis, retracting her mind and choosing (with difficulty) to allow this asari her privacy. "Video evidence from a witness. I regret that it has nothing to do with the Spectre investigation regarding the Nerazim, but this must still be addressed."

"Evidence regarding the attacks?" Vasir asked sharply. The elevator pinged once and the doors slid open, leaving Vasir to glance between Selendis and the waiting machine. "Hmm. We'll be glad to have it. After you." Selendis followed Vasir's extended hand and stood in the elevator, head scraping the roof. _Teleportation. I must ask the Spectres for permission to teleport into their offices. This is ridiculous._ Vasir clambered in after her, scooting around the side and trying to find some room for herself.

"Out of curiosity, what did you find?" Vasir grinned, broadcasting embarrassment. "It's going to be another headache in a few hours. I'd like some warning."

Selendis pulled out the device and activated it, showing a few seconds of live footage. She paused it where Veetor got a good view of the attackers. "Are these familiar faces?"

"No." Vasir frowned and chewed on her upper lip. "Zerg, maybe? Some kind of new vorcha breed?"

"A weak explanation," said Selendis before she could stop herself. She bowed her head, nerve cords rustling against the sides of the elevator. "Apologies. I have trouble blunting the harshness of my words."

"You'll get no complaints from me," said Vasir, holding up her hands. "People on the Citadel like to dance around issues. Not me, though." Vasir's eyes flicked up, displaying for the slightest second a hint of nervousness. She opened her mouth only for the elevator to shudder. Her brow crinkled. "That didn't sound good." With a whine, the elevator came to a halt.

"Welcome to the Citadel!" laughed Vasir, punching the big red button. The doors screamed open. "A magnificent place where shit doesn't work. You see that ledge to the left?" Selendis craned her head and indeed did spot it, wrapped around a large pillar. "I know a shortcut through the keeper access tunnels. Unless … you feel like teleporting us there?"

"Can you guarantee the other Spectres will not open fire?" asked Selendis, privately resigned to yet further inconvenience. Vasir rubbed her chin and shook her head with a rueful smile. "Then I will follow your lead, Tela Vasir."

"Ever seen biotics?" Vasir smirked when Selendis responded in the negative. "Watch." Vasir stepped to the lip of the elevator before extending her hands to either side, wreathing her arms in a sudden flare of blue energy. Her body now glowing a marvelous blue, she stepped from the elevator and descended to the ledge, almost angelic. She landed with nary a sound, and looked up to Selendis, eyes expectant as the light died around her. Selendis shook her head and dropped without a sound, landing on all fours with a faint crash. _Inelegant, but I am not looking to impress._ Her joints faintly ached from the impact.

"Whatever works," said Vasir, shrugging. She beckoned for Selendis to follow and with a single look cast over her shoulder at the pristine Presidium, she did exactly that.

"Your mind is strong," said Selendis as they passed underneath the shadow of the tunnel proper, discomfort running through her veins at the sudden absence of light. "I can find no weakness. You have been trained?"

"Kerrigan's doing," said Vasir lightly, stepping around one of the hollow keepers, an expression of faint distaste flickering across her face. "Not too hard to get the basics right. Once you're six hundred and thirteen, you've seen pretty much everything."

 _She is almost twice my age._ Selendis pondered this, watching every movement the asari made. _Calculated and graceful. A strong will. Utterly worthy of respect._

"How long have you been a Spectre?" asked Selendis, suddenly truly curious about a non-protoss for the first time since meeting the quarians and geth. "What have you seen?"

"Three centuries a Spectre as of last month," said Vasir. "As for the second question … eh. I've seen an elcor arsonist, witnessed a drell assassinate a salarian sitting next to me in a C-Sec station, and was lucky enough to be on the Citadel when that Reaper of yours showed up." She gave a low whistle. "Watching that mothership of yours blow it away … heh. Wish I could have shook the hand of the protoss in command of that ship."

"Praetor Udun," said Selendis, remembering. "I met him only twice, well before his sacrifice over Thessia. We are all lesser for his loss."

"And the other one," said Vasir suddenly, ducking under a low hanging bar and waiting for Selendis to follow suit. "Tassadar, right? I would have liked to have met him."

 _She cannot fully understand the magnitude of what she says. She cannot understand that those who knew Tassadar best have been set aside in our societies. His Apostles. Zeratul, Fenix, Artanis, Ulrezaj and Kythos._

"Tassadar was the best of us," said Selendis carefully. "Be careful with your words. His name bears great weight and … controversy … amongst the ranks of the Firstborn. His sacrifice will be remembered for eternity."

"It's certainly one for the history books," said Vasir, wrinkling her nose and pointing at a bubbling vat below them. "Stinks, doesn't it?" Selendis did not respond, for she had no sense of smell. "Keepers maintain these things. Free food for those who don't mind the complete lack of taste. Still … better than that ramen crap the terrans keep selling." Selendis again did not respond, for she only fed on light. Vasir shrugged once more and continued.

"Are we almost at the end?" asked Selendis, feeling out with her mind and finding nothing more than the familiar hollow intentions of the keepers. "I can call for a teleportation if we are truly lost."

"We're almost at the end," confirmed Vasir, leading the way up a short ramp. "It'll be good to get that evidence of yours out into the open, even if it gets … messy." Vasir stopped and sighed. A chill settled on Selendis's nerve cords. _Something … out of place?_ A thin whisper broke the silence, and Selendis wheeled about, blades flashing.

A green blade cut through the space where she had once stood, a pair of narrowed glowing eyes behind a mask carrying it. Selendis cried out through the Khala, only to find her shouts stifled. Shadows shifted about her and she retreated, her two thin slivers of blue alight before her.

 _Never before have I fought Nerazim._ Templar had clashed against Templar across the countless fields, jungles, and hilltops of Aiur, but she had never been forced to pit herself against the dark ones. She looked back once to find Vasir gone. _Traitor._ To what end Vasir had turned against her Selendis had no idea, but the intent was clearly for her to die alone in these tunnels. _But I am no judicator, defenseless when caught far from our gleaming hordes. I am Templar, no easy prey!_

Selendis bellowed through the Khala, her voice cracking the ice of silence and giving the Nerazim pause. Summoning forth her rage and desperation, lightning crackled from the air and threw her closest assailant aside, his shields smoking from the release of energy. She reached out and pulled another Nerazim, his mind only a moment too slow to stop her. He flew past her with a muffled cry, sliding against Selendis's outstretched blade in his passing, the screech of shield on blade swiftly turning to the muted sizzle of parting flesh.

Leaving her likely fatally wounded opponent behind her, Selendis checked her flank before advancing cautiously, trying to determine where the shadowy warriors now hid and watched. She found only silence and stillness. Remembering the times she had witnessed the Nerazim in action against the Conclave, this made her immediately turn around.

The blade split her defenses in twain, the swift stroke sundering Selendis's shields. She backed up briefly to regain her footing before bulling forward, forcing the Nerazim to dance around her, trying to keep her off-balance. But she was no fresh-faced zealot averse to any tactic beyond blind rage. She maintained her footing and followed his movement, moving forward all the while, and feeling about for the slightest perturbations in the air. The Nerazim slid away from her and faded, hoping for another ambush. Selendis rewarded his predictable retreat with a sharp shock of psi energy, sending a lance of crackling rage at his shadow, which shook and smoked. _No running. And after you, the asari._

The Nerazim collapsed, visible once more, and Selendis advanced with psi blades drawn. _The Citadel is unsafe even for the Firstborn. No more running around without an escort. No one can be trusted._ She lifted a blade – and the air shook.

Selendis possessed only a moment to wonder at the vibrations before being hurled backwards in a flare of blue light, her body slamming against a railing overlooking a protein vat while her bones crunched against the metal. She stood quickly, more out of reflex than actual decision, only to buckle as something slammed against her chest plate, the aftermath leaving her mind ringing. She rose again, hand outstretched and mind ready. The second series of projectiles stilled and fell to the floor, leaving a frowning Vasir and a smoking gun.

"Traitor," growled Selendis, only to be shocked at the shakiness of the message. Vasir only gritted her teeth and blurred, vanishing with a soft pop. Selendis looked up into metal rafters and leapt, her rage finally breaking through the Khala. _You're out of time, asari. Whatever your purpose, you wanted me alone. Now the might of the protoss will be brought upon your head._ Vasir jumped out from behind a steel support and blurred again. This time Selendis held her in place with an outstretched hand, making Vasir shudder as her movement suddenly ceased and her weapon-

As before, Selendis heard no sound. The gun pounded against her chest plate and this time Selendis saw blood, felt her bones painfully compact at the weapon's discharge. Her eyes closed once, twice, and all she could hear were Vasir's ragged gasps and the soft patter of blood against the metal floor. With a flick of her wrist, Selendis sent Vasir's shotgun twisting out of her grasp, spiraling into the blackness below where they stood, hopefully into a protein vat. Selendis, ignoring the steadily rising pain in her chest advanced a step. Then another, extending a psi blade towards the asari's frigid heart. _Death._

"Death," agreed a deep voice from behind her, sending a shiver through Selendis's nerve cords … followed by blinding pain.

Selendis let forth a scream and found her voice silent. She fell to her knees and found herself prone. She struggled to see and found only inky blackness. _No. NO._ Her thoughts fragmented. Strong hands took hold of her ruined armor and retrieved – something important. Surely – surely it was-

The Nerazim grabbed her by the head and looked into her eyes while his own flared orange. "Feel the Void, Templar," he grunted, roughly shoving her backwards while activating his warp blade. His arm jerked backwards – followed by his head, a ragged hole appearing with a thick spatter of blood. The Nerazim faded into smoke with a gasp while Selendis rolled in place, directing her gaze in the direction of the bullet.

"Gone crooked, Vasir?" asked the turian, his rifle emitting a faint light from under the barrel, dancing on the unseen asari. He fired twice more, the weapon coughing loudly in the emptiness before he dropped it, making a yanking motion with a suddenly glowing blue hand. To Selendis, time seemed to slow and pulse while her vision darkened with every agonizing second. Asari and turian danced in the dim light, hands glowing a resplendent aqua. A terran female entered the fray, blonde hair whipping as she tried to hold Vasir still. Blackness descended, and Selendis dreamt momentarily of the Khala before being shaken awake.

"Severed nerve cords," reported the terran, voice firm and cold. "Protoss could clamp it, but no telling how long before they get here, seeing as one of their ships just got nuked. Damn mess… We need to stop the bleeding."

"TK it," said the equally cold voice of the turian, and even through the pain Selendis could sense a horrible _satisfaction_ at what he witnessed. "She's important."

"It's psi bleedout as well," snapped the terran, rounding on the turian. "I apply any amount of energy and her head pops like a ripe melon from the feedback. Biotics would do it, and biotics is what she will get. Now."

The turian's mandibles twitched while his cold eyes bore into the terran's skull.

"The things I do for love," sighed the turian, bending over Selendis, who could not help but recoil ever so slightly, her head bouncing against the ground. The turian shook his head. "I suspect that this will hurt. It cannot be helped."

His hand glowing blue, the turian reached for the back of Selendis's skull before clenching his fingers. And Selendis, bleeding on the floor, deaf, blind, and dumb to all sensation … Selendis _screamed._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**

 **A/N: Christ, sorry this took so long. I don't really want to get into why, but expect the next chapter to not take so long. Also expect a protoss factional analysis sometime soon, as well as possibly a chapter for a new fic that I just want to get out before someone else comes up with the idea. Hope this was an enjoyable chapter ... even though I know everyone (including myself) really wants the next one as soon as possible. I think Valerian has been my favorite new POV thus far. Anyway, onward and upward.**


	18. Devolution

**Valerian**

 _This is hell. I've stumbled into hell._ Valerian had heard hell defined as other people. He had heard it described as an unending frozen landscape, devoid of heat or hope. And there, of course, deep-seated in Valerian's psyche, was the popular view held that hell consisted of fire, brimstone, and people being slowly spit-roasted over open flames, poked all the while by demons with sharp implements.

Valerian could now only look upon these preconceptions with a mixture of scorn and envy, a sort of frantic sneer twisting his features. _Hell is being stripped of everything, all preconceptions, power, identity … everything except for hope. I suffer, and the worst part is that some idiotic part of me is convinced that it might end._ He grunted, trying to divorce his mind from the damnable biology that caused him such discomfort.

"I will feed you," the Queen had said, proffering a handful of strange twisted grubs into his hands. "You will be treated with all the dignity I can muster … I bear you no ill will, Prince Valerian."

"Then feel free to drop me off at Korhal at your earliest convenience," replied Valerian, voice shaking. The Queen shook her head sadly.

It took a long time for Valerian to work up the nerve to bite into the grubs. The taste … well in truth, Valerian had tasted worse things in his time, but the texture was rubbery and almost seemed to squirm its way down his throat. Even in his extreme hunger, Valerian fought the throes of nausea, doubling over as a thin trail of drool ran down his chin, the gag reflex steadily overpowering his will, his dignity.

Now, days later, he could eat what the Queen left for him at the airlock "doorstep" of what he was beginning to accept as his (temporary) home. He could even look back on his earlier struggles with the food with some degree of amusement and pride; he had overcome something unexpected and base, something far below his station. Had Father ever had to deal with eating something so unappealing, both in appearance, origin, and texture? Most likely he had not. _It makes me stronger._

Drinking the water was not as difficult, it simply took a willful kind of ignorance as to where and how it was being generated. The pool formed just outside his ship, the product of steady condensation on the purple and fleshy ceiling. The water felt slightly overwarm and possessed an unwelcome oily aftertaste, but thirst proved a far stronger need than hunger, and Valerian did not fight off any urge to vomit even after his very first careful sips.

This new need, however … there was no escaping neither its pressing necessity nor its undeniable putrescence.

 _Mankind has needed to … defecate … since its very inception. All beings must process and deposit waste. There is nothing inherently shameful in our biology. Indeed, it is simply the culture I was raised in from which the horror stems, not any inherent evil to the process. Still … I cannot deny the shiver of fear running down my spine nor the dreadful thudding of my heart. I do not look forward to this._

Valerian found it curious that he experienced so little difficulty with urinating in a corner of the … room, for lack of a better term, outside the ship. He rather suspected that were he a woman, he might have been a tad more emotionally invested in positioning and location (not to mention basic utilities such as toilet paper.) Sadly, his sex did not ultimately spare him the indignity of approaching the Queen and making an immortal statement, made terrible in its context rather than content.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he said out loud, trying to broadcast his plaintive state of mind by thinking very hard about just what he was asking, as well as the emotional anguish associated with his need. Beneath the low hum of the Leviathan's processes, Valerian heard a sigh in response.

He waited outside the ship for her, facing the discolored patch that supposedly had once housed someone dear to her. Valerian tried not to put too much thought into just who – or what – that someone had been. _If that person was a terran … then it means this ship is capable of absorbing corpses, bodies. That might be my fate. And if it wasn't terran … was it asari? Did she have her ship eat one of her own kind? Was it zerg? What happened here?_

Despite the Queen's assurances, she had not yet seen fit to return and hold a lengthy discussion with Valerian, leaving him alone for … however long it had been, to languish within the dingy ship housed so deep within the leviathan. While Valerian was at first thankful for this reprieve, fear swiftly gave way to boredom, and boredom only spawned curiosity. He now knew every inch of the derelict ship, the derelict salarian cargo hauler known as the _Leptam_ , and even the room outside it to a certain extent. _Even if I darted back into the ship at every slightest noise. As if that would help._

The reappearance of the Queen produced more curiosity than fear in Valerian. Within the surprisingly well-lit interior of the leviathan, unbound by zerg agents, he could finally get a good look at his abductor.

His first thought was that she was simply a purple asari; a little bit of ridged skin here and there, some strange extra limbs lodged on her back, but nothing far beyond what he had seen of infested asari footage taken from within the Exclusion Zone. _Hard purple exoskeleton, raised around the shoulders and neck. Thicker over the chest to protect vital organs. Nothing surprising._ Closer examination revealed a bit more.

Unlike the feral witches of the Athena Nebula, the Queen's eyes literally _burned_ with a kind of intelligence that almost put Valerian in mind of his father. Her features looked softer than the harsh and jagged faces of the witches, smoother and more capable of expression. She also lacked the horrid mandibles that marked the witches as yet another readily recognizable zerg perversion of a sapient species. When she turned her head, a series of bristly appendages extending from the rear of her crest bounced against her back. _Nerve cords, I think. Like a protoss?_

She told him to follow in tones that (again) put Valerian in mind of his father. Like his father, any semblance of disobedience was out of the question.

"You see this pit?" she asked, her voice reverberating, not just through the emptiness of the pit she led him to, but within itself. Slowly, Valerian nodded. "Just crouch over the edge. Try not to fall in."

"Are you serious?" Valerian took a step backward, trying frantically to think of an alternative. _Just … go in the corner? Not in the ship, obviously. But … how long will I be kept here? I'll run out of space._ The Queen stared at him without blinking, and Valerian could not tell whether she gazed upon him with contempt or pity.

"I am serious," she said slowly, bending down and tearing off a clump of flesh from the walls. "Just use these softer chunks as toilet paper and toss them in the pit. Believe me, I understand your disgust. I well remember my first days within the leviathan…" Her eyes took on a far-away look before her face became as hard as her exoskeleton. "You will adapt, as we have adapted. I have no intention of setting you free any time soon, Valerian. You ate the food and drank the water. Pass it, and then we will talk."

And that was how Valerian came to strain over a pit within a zerg leviathan, straining hard while simultaneously trying to focus on anything but what he was actually doing. The Queen thankfully had departed to give him what was likely only a false pretense of privacy, but he nevertheless appreciated the gesture. _Ah yes, now the Stockholm Syndrome sets in._

When he finished with the soft chunks of wall and gingerly dropped the last piece down the darkened pit below, Valerian retreated back down the fleshy corridor to be confronted by the Queen.

"It's time we talked," she said, this time sounding less commanding and more … uncertain. She gestured for Valerian to follow.

"Wash your hands in the pool," she commanded, stopping before the ship. "Many of my standards may have changed since … since the Great War, but basic cleanliness is not one of them. Do not worry about contaminating the water source, it's constantly filtered. Go."

Valerian knelt before the pool and soaked his hands in the lukewarm water, running his fingers over the palms, over each other, scrubbing the unseen filth that lingered hidden in the skin. He flicked his hands a few times, letting the droplets fly from his fingertips before wiping them against his increasingly soiled pants leg.

"With me." Valerian followed without complaint. Part of him was glad to leave behind the bubble had been living in. The other half dreaded encountering fellow residents of the leviathan. _Will she have full control? She is no Cerebrate!_

"No, I am no Cerebrate." The Queen cast a look back at him. "I am the closest thing you will find to a new zerg Overmind. If any Cerebrates still lived, I would hold dominion over them."

"What are you?" he asked, a question that seconds later Valerian realized sounded quite rude.

"She is Queen of Ruins," rumbled a deep voice from within the fleshy walls behind Valerian. He leapt aside in time to see the walls part with a sickening sound of suction, letting something … indescribable force its way through.

The creature gazed at Valerian with cold intelligence, even as its mouth drooled a viscous slime without cease, even as the two pairs of talons splayed out to either side of it twitched with obvious suppressed intention. "Ruler of zerg. Even in twilight. Brings survival. And stagnation."

Valerian opened his mouth and closed it. He jumped as he backed into the wall behind him. _My body fell back without letting my brain know._ He stared at the creature with a mixture of fear and revulsion. _This … thing … this thing I could easily see leading the Swarm._

"Ignorant." The dismissal felt strangely insulting to Valerian, even temporarily overshadowing his fear. "Am Abathur, spinner of strands. Architect of genetics. Serve in advisor capacity due to lack of adequate lieutenants. Daggoth was the last. Cerebrates long dead. All that remains. Us."

"He's a zerg scientist," said the Queen, striding up to Abathur, looking him up and down. "Or the closest thing the zerg ever had to one. The Overmind made him unique, even relatively independent." She looked back to Valerian. "He's also been the only person I've had to talk to since Daggoth died."

"That's been your company?" Valerian's expression contorted into revulsion as he surveyed the great slug. "What do you talk about?"

"Fate of Swarm," grunted Abathur, directing his gaze to Valerian, who did not appreciate it. "Queen holds out that zerg may somehow integrate with galaxy. That there is place for zerg to grow strong in peace. Increasingly weak arguments."

"Abathur feels more ruthless action is needed," said the Queen. "That we should swell our ranks by attacking outlying terran colonies, or moving to the Terminus Systems and eating pirates. I still remain quite certain that in remaining hidden, we have avoided extermination by the protoss. Or geth. Or terrans. Or _anyone._ "

"Swarm represents greatest hope for galaxy," mumbled back Abathur, making Valerian cock an eyebrow. "Reaper threat remains uncontested. Non-zerg races fracture, fight amongst selves. Must bring unity. Must combat threat for good of all."

"Reapers?" Valerian folded his arms. "So … the turians and geth are on to something after all? Father always felt that more pressing threats demanded his attention before things he could not see. But you … you two believe?"

"Believe?" The Queen crossed the distance between herself and Valerian in a blur, her face suddenly next to his uncomfortably close. "I've seen one." She did not sound happy for the experience. Valerian wrenched himself away.

"Zerg Overmind wished to make all zerg, all one," intoned Abathur. "Under rule of Overmind, Reapers could be contested. Such was will of xel'naga. All else irrelevant. Queen shirks duties through misguided mercy."

"We attack, Abathur, and we render ourselves extinct!" snapped the Queen, turning back to her companion and formerly sole source of conversation. "Enough. We can discuss this once I have spoken with Valerian. Believe it or not, Abathur, I think I may be on to something that will help the Swarm."

"Will believe once idea is presented." The great slug turned around and began to ooze back into the hole from whence it came. "Little hope. Too much time idle. Few sequences left to manipulate, to hold interest." The walls slid shut in his passing, leaving Valerian to wonder if that was the zerg equivalent of a door. He glanced at the Queen, and she bid him follow.

"He doesn't like terrans," said the Queen, causing a stab of fear in Valerian. "He feels their genes are useless, for the most part. Bad eyesight, no biotics, not enough psionic potential to be worthwhile…" she shrugged. "There are worse things than to be considered "too weak" for experimentation by Abathur. He doesn't want you here. He thinks I should have killed you. He's tempted to do it himself."

"That's reassuring." Valerian coughed, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. "You'll stop him, won't you?"

"You might still be of some use." The Queen did not meet his gaze when he looked her way. The leviathan's twisting corridors began to trend upwards, making Valerian's stiff legs burn with the exertion. "And believe me … I'm sympathetic."

They walked in silence for a time, Valerian chuffing as his own physical weaknesses became ever more readily apparent. Slowly, the passageways leveled out, and bright light shone in from some greater room beyond.

"The command room, if you will," murmured the Queen, stepping aside to let Valerian through a strange threshold of hardened flesh and into the bright room. Valerian stopped for a moment, overcome by, of all things, simple beauty.

Through a thin screen of membrane shone the universe, such as it was. Stars glimmered within the void, as uncountable as they were magnificent, their scope taking Valerian's breath away. Great astral gasses hung in vibrant clumps within the emptiness, twisting and churning in that great expanse, heedless of the great creature, of Valerian, gazing upon it.

"I wanted a good view," said the Queen, somehow now in front of him. "I used to sleep in the ship … but sooner or later I think, for everyone, it comes down to finding the best things about bad situations. I no more wanted to live in this leviathan than you do, Valerian. But here we are. Isn't it beautiful?"

"It is magnificent," said Valerian turning his head back and forth, trying to take in as much of the heavens as he could. "I always wanted to do a space walk … see space from the hull of a battlecruiser. Father never allowed it, though. This is about how I imagined it. Almost."

"Come." The Queen gestured to two raised mounds of flesh, shaped awkwardly to accommodate humanoid figures. Valerian sat gratefully, relieving his aching legs. The Queen remained standing, facing the screen and leaving her back to Valerian.

"I mentioned once before to you my name. Liara T'Soni." Valerian nodded, suspecting the Queen would know even without looking back. "I am sure, somewhere, that there is a count of people who went missing during the Great War – the names of so many lost to the zerg at the early stages. People on freighters, transports, mercenaries operating in the Traverse…" She shook her head, making her nerve cords whip to either side while the folded limbs on her back swayed in place. "I'm among that number, somewhere. I went to Therum, the place the zerg laid claim to first. I sought out the prothean ruins. Instead, I found zerg. Instead I found … _him._ "

The words tumbled out of the Queen then, faster and faster, detailing a similar abduction from an archaeological dig by the Reaper, Sovereign. Detailing her time on Eden Prime among the terrans, terminating in foul murder by Sovereign. Detailing her trip to Feros, having almost lost full control of her consciousness thanks to the machine. Valerian never interrupted, only listened as Liara vented for what he quickly realized was the first time. _All of this rage, frustration, despair kept at bay by quiet optimism … this must be cathartic for her._ It almost made him want to forgive her for taking him from Kessel and keeping him prisoner in a horrible space whale.

"We left Therum together, fleeing from a galaxy sworn to vengeance," continued the Queen, words almost bleeding together from the speed. "Daggoth seemed strong enough at first, just sad. But then he got sick … I tried looking into providing the same kind of input the Overmind provided, but it was no use. There is no replacing that Bastard, however horrible it might be to admit it. He died four years ago, so slowly. We barely crossed into the Koprulu Sector and he finally just … went." The Queen became quiet, her long sharpened fingers continually flexing and unflexing while Valerian looked on.

"Why did you come here?" Valerian asked.

"Xel'naga ruins," muttered the Queen. "I was – I am an archaeologist. Like you. Certain comments made by Daggoth and the Thorian … it made me think there was some kind of link between the protheans and the xel'naga. Between the Koprulu Sector's history and the Council's. It made me wonder what the xel'naga knew of the Reapers. Did they know of them? Did the Reapers kill them? I needed answers … and I hoped some kind of clear instruction or line of action might be made clear from what I found."

"And … what have you found?" asked Valerian.

"Protoss." The Queen spat the word. "Kessel was the first xel'naga ruin I found free of them. But everywhere else I went … protoss. Guarding the ruins, slaying any terrans fool enough to get close. And Goddess knows what they would do to us … to me."

"Kessel was the first ruin you got to see?"

"Kessel was the closest in a long string of damnable failures." The Queen's hands clenched into fists and remained that way, shaking. "You idiots showed up. The first ruins not staked by the protoss, and here come the terrans. Abathur wanted you all dead, and I had a hard time disagreeing with him. But we watched. Waited for you to leave. And then … you stumbled on something I had never seen before. Hope never to see hence."

"That thing." Valerian shivered, remembering the way Starke had screamed. _They died because of you, Valerian._ "What was it?"

"I've felt protoss consciousnesses before," murmured the Queen, fingers falling still against her sides once more while her frame crumpled slightly. "And I know the zerg. Of course I know the zerg. This thing … its mind glowed bright, like the mightiest of the protoss. But its intentions … feral zerg. Feral zerg all the way down. It just wanted to hurt, lash out, tear everyone it could see to shreds. I don't know why." She shivered. "But if there are more of them out there, more of them dormant in the ruins … the galaxy does not need any more horrors populating the stars. Not while we are still so weak."

"You want to shield everyone from things like that?" Valerian leaned over, tried to catch the Queen's face from the side. "From the Reapers?"

"Yes." The Queen looked out to the stars. "But I have traveled so far, and for so long. You are the first thing I truly have to show for it. And you are not what I wanted. Not what I intended. At all."

"Then let me go," said Valerian, rising. The Queen only laughed.

"No, I think not," she said, rounding upon Valerian and pressing firmly on his shoulder. Valerian resisted for a moment, only to glumly note that (surprise, surprise) her strength far surpassed anything he could ever hope to muster. _I am at her mercy. Better than Abathur's, at least._ "You are not what I wanted, but you are still the Crown Prince of the Dominion, and you do not seem totally lacking for wits. I will make use of you."

Valerian thought about asking just what would happen if he refused, but quickly thought better of it. He knew the answer.

"Abathur overlooks a critical problem of the Swarm as it stands," said the Queen, standing over Valerian, her eyes burning their way into his. "Much of how the old Swarm operated is unknown to the galaxy at large … but not to me. The Overmind held sway over Its Cerebrates, and could even co-opt control of their broods, but no one being can fully control something as mighty as the Zerg Swarm at their apex. The Cerebrates were not only Its sons and lieutenants, they were necessary delegates of Its will. I lack any such delegates of my own. The zerg living within this leviathan and the leviathan itself … that is the extent of my power. Abathur is not equipped to delegate."

"Overlords?" The Queen's eyes widened briefly at Valerian's monosyllabic query, apparently surprised at the input.

"Not enough," she said, sounding slightly pleased nevertheless at the relevant contribution. "They are the glue that holds the zerg together, but even they require a consciousness above them to direct their will. I have scoured the Koprulu Sector for any kind of being, zerg or otherwise, that can fill the yawning gap in the zerg hierarchy."

Valerian's breathing sped up while the Queen stared up at him. _No … not-_

"Not infestation," said the Queen, sounding disgusted. She retreated from Valerian, glaring at him before gesturing at her body. "Do you think I would wish this on anyone else? That I would inflict a fate like this on _anyone_? I'm trying to stand against the Reapers, not imitate them." _It's funny. I can easily imagine Father doing something quite different in your position…_

"You think little of your father." The Queen folded her arms, a strangely familiar gesture given her grotesque appearance. "In my position he would … ah. You believe he would have conquered large swaths of the galaxy. That must be nice, knowing what your parent would do, even if you do not derive guidance from it." The Queen sighed heavily. "When I decided to take up this mantle and leave Therum, I thought about what my mother would have done. Matriarch Benezia … a casualty to the zerg like myself." The Queen's head snapped up as Valerian froze, his breathing turning into frantic gasps. "What is it?"

Valerian only shook his head, trying desperately to remember the handful of times Starke had spoken of mental techniques used to shield the mind against probing thoughts. _Remain calm … he told me to remain calm!_

"Valerian?" The Queen crossed over to him, bringing her face level to Valerian's as he gasped. "Valerian, what is it?"

Until now, Valerian had not managed to detect his mind being scanned by any other intelligence. This time however, he caught the fleeting sensation, as if something faint yet warm glanced across the inside of his skull, coming away sticky with thought. He knew he had failed.

The Queen stood, eyes wide. Valerian shook his head wildly, trying through a mixture of feeble squeaks and weak movement to indicate his innocence. _Tarsonis … I was not there. I never approved. Tarsonis!_

"Tarsonis," said the Queen, voice as cold as the inky blackness that smothered her leviathan. "Tarsonis…" her voice cracked slightly, but her expression only hardened. "I didn't know. Perhaps I should kill you, Valerian. Even the score – your family has committed one atrocity against mine already. Maybe-" The Queen faltered, eyes glazing before rolling into the back of her head. Valerian, confused and terrified, considered running from the room, but even in his fevered state recognized the folly. _Remain. Remain and plead for mercy, beg for forgiveness._

The Queen let out a low keening sound, followed by a series of cries that reverberated oddly through Valerian's ears. He watched the twitching form of the Queen with trepidation, hoping this seizure did not herald a loss of control that would terminate in the asari prying the head from his shoulders.

The Queen cried twice more, and Valerian detected a chorus of responses from throughout the ship – the brood responding to their queen. When the Queen opened her eyes, they appeared somewhat bleary and bloodshot to Valerian.

"You have much to answer for," she croaked before staggering. "You and your father … but he holds the Dominion together, and you carry its future. It would be foolish and … selfish of me to strike against either of you." The Queen righted herself, towered over Valerian. "You owe me a debt of blood, Valerian, as brutish as that might sound. My mother … no. You do not deserve to know." She turned her back.

"What was that?" asked Valerian, sensing the question was unwelcome even as he spoke.

"A cry from across the galaxy." The Queen did not look back at him. "These past few months, someone has been seeking out aid through a … very specific psionic wavelength. It becomes easiest to hear when I reflect on my mother. On loss." The Queen looked back at Valerian. "Your mother is dead, as well."

"Yes." Valerian remembered well the way the strength had fled from her hand as he held it, as the steady pulse of life faded into nothing while her body gave in to disease. _Her face … it did not look like her anymore. Her voice had grown weak._ "Her last words … she told me to be nothing like my father." _I aim to be a better man. A better emperor._

"The voice is crying out for its mother, as well." The Queen looked out to the stars. "I have wondered … is it protoss? Some terran ghost like Sarah Kerrigan? Who could have the strength to call out in such a manner?" She shook her head. "No matter. With you here, I will finally be able to find out."

 _Is this how I am to repay you? Seeking out this voice?_ The Queen gave a brief nod.

"A Crown Prince would have a great deal of pull on Noveria," said the Queen. "And, since at this point I am resigned to finding an untouched xel'naga temple, it may as well be time to return to space I know, for the time being. I know Abathur would approve. Twice he has asked me to strike the planet. He will have to settle for infiltration."

Valerian nodded, mouth dry. _If it will earn my freedom …_ He did not hold any delusions about escaping. The Queen could read his thoughts and intentions possibly even more clearly than he could. "You would use me … as Sovereign used you."

Valerian did not have time to cry out. Liara's arm flashed blue and he went flying, careening through the air from the force. He landed in a heap against the wall, his vision clearing just in time to see the Queen stride with purpose to where he lay. Hidden ropes tugged at his being and pulled him to his feet, even as the Queen made no visible movement.

"Never again," she said, each syllable clearly enunciated. "Never again will you compare me to him."

"Never again," confirmed Valerian. The Queen dropped him, leaving him to stumble in place.

"We have a stop to make first," she said, voice cold. "You idiot terrans inflicted casualties on my brood, gunning them down from your trucks. The … _thing_ did our numbers no favors either. So, we go to Tarsonis. One of the last zerg bastions in the Sector … and the site of your father's crime. When we land, remain in the ship." Valerian nodded, wondering why anyone in his position would want to go wandering about in that irradiated, zerg infested wasteland.

"I have unlocked the computer on your ship," she said, now sounding quite distant. "I used it to keep track of galactic events, in the past. When I cared. It has extranet access, but the minute you try to reach out to the Dominion or in any way betray my existence, I hand you to Abathur with instructions to take his time. Understand?"

Valerian nodded. _I am yours, Queen of Ruins._ The Queen narrowed her eyes and beckoned him to follow. _Time to return to my cage._ He did so gladly, leaving the Queen behind at the airlock.

The ship, previously dingy and unlit, now showed signs of life. A glowing console caught his immediate attention and, despite feeling a little ashamed of himself, he eagerly sought out a search engine and typed in his name.

"They don't know yet," he mumbled. _No sign of being acknowledged as missing._ He checked the UNN website, almost desperate for some confirmation of his own absence. What he found instead was rank madness.

"Under attack?" _Braxis has fallen. Duke claims to have been assaulted by … terrans from Earth. The homeworld?_ Valerian licked his lips while his back began to ache from craning huddling over the computer without a chair. He elected to continue following the links.

 _Dylar IV is under their control and they are beginning to pressure Tyrador and Char. Warfield is hitting the KMC hard and making significant inroads, but the Hegemony is expected to respond. And if we come under attack from both sides …_ Valerian chewed his lower lip.

 _The protoss are on the Citadel, but are coming under attack. Two major terrorist attacks so far, and no one knows who to blame. The ITSA has been hit by an unknown force … the galaxy is going mad. Is any of this the Reapers' doing?_ There was a horrible thought. Valerian stood up, looking down on the harsh glow of the computer.

"And here I am, in the belly of a whale," he said aloud. _At least I'm safe here … relatively. This "UED" will want my blood, if they're really from Earth and mean business. I hope Duke is okay._

Valerian sought out an overturned crate and used it for a makeshift chair. He sat before the computer for hours, seeking out every bit of news he could find while (somewhat hating himself for doing so) looking for any sign that the Dominion's Crown Prince had gone missing. No such luck. _The galaxy seems rather preoccupied instead with such trivial matters as the resurgence of the protoss, the massive war now raging in the Koprulu Sector, and strange attacks on the ITSA._

The leviathan shifted and rumbled, the first real reminder that Valerian lived upon a living ship rather than grotesquely decorated metal one. Valerian's little tin ship shook and clattered as the leviathan cleaved its way through the atmosphere and he mused upon his fate.

 _Benezia was her mother. Mengsk never spoke of her. But then, he hardly spoke of any of the "friends" he made during his rebellion. He raged about Raynor and Kerrigan often enough, but Benezia? Victus? Perhaps another symptom of his guilt? How genuine was he being, back on Korhal?_

Valerian sat there in the dark, while the Queen likely rounded up as many zerg as she could on this dead world. _Father said that Tarsonis would be rebuilt only after Korhal once again flourished. For him, there can never be enough retribution. The Confederacy will be punished long after its death._

Somewhere in the corridors of the ship, static crackled. Valerian rose from his makeshift seat, the hairs bristling on the back of his neck. He walked down the dimly lit metal corridors, ears pricked. Beneath the crackling lay something else.

Valerian opened the door to one of the unused cabins from which the static emanated. The underlying sounds became much clearer once the door had been shifted aside, and he looked down on a dusty and overturned radio, which blared its weak signal.

 _Screams._ The realization came suddenly to Valerian, and he found it necessary to stifle a gasp. _My God. It's screams._ Beneath the weak crackling he could hear screaming, the unending vibrations of countless people of all ages and sexes, screaming in terror. He stood there agape, trying to comprehend just what the hell was going on. No explanation was forthcoming.

Valerian picked up the dusty radio with shaking fingers, trying to check the channel. _Can't read salarian languages._ He switched the radio off with a deft motion, trying to quell the hammering of his heart. _Father never set foot on this planet after its fall … this is no place for a Mengsk._

He returned to the computer with a heavy sensation of unease, constantly looking up from the screen. _If I hear footsteps … I will sleep outside the ship._ But there was no further unexplained phenomena. Valerian's heartbeats slowly regained a semblance of calm.

"A haunted space whale," he said, trying to find the humor. He let out a chuckle devoid of any real mirth and just sat there, staring at the screen. When the leviathan shifted again, beginning the long journey to Valerian's destination, to the beginnings of his service to the Queen, he could not help but feel only relief.

From the back of the ship, the radio coughed static once more, relayed the harsh bark of a turian giving orders, and went silent. Valerian very deliberately rose from his seat, exited the _Leptam_ , and sat down outside the ship.

Unlike the eating and shitting, sleeping in the leviathan came relatively easily to him.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Garrus**


	19. Testing the Boundaries

**Garrus**

"I must urge you all, aliens and terrans alike, to heed this ominous portent!" The vidscreen blared within the C-Sec office, filling the room with the bombastic sound of Arcturus Mengsk's voice. _Not a bad thing to listen to, really._ At times Garrus almost felt able to look past the slightly reddened face of the terran emperor and the small gasps of breath in between his proclamations to see him as a leader of sapients alone. _His diction transcends species._ Garrus snorted.

"I am aware I have made claims in the past regarding Earth, claiming over and over again that their distance prohibited any contact, that their interests and force projection would fall far short of our distant shores. I am saddened to admit I mistook the fools back on Earth to be reasonable men and women, unwilling to pursue such lofty and ridiculous goals as imperialist expansion when almost a quarter of the galaxy lies between them and us. Again, I reiterate with great fervency and regret that I was mistaken. The United Earth Directorate is here, and they are trying to force their way to Korhal. The brave men and women of the Dominion fight to-"

"We got your guy, Garrus," said a voice as the door to the office slid open. Captain Bailey walked through, craning his neck to look at the now violently gesticulating Emperor Mengsk. "Heh. Enjoying the show? I could spend all day listening to him."

"He certainly keeps it lively." Garrus rose from his chair, stretching his arms in front of him and flexing his mandibles. "Let's get this over with."

Garrus followed Bailey out of the office and pressed himself up against the wall almost immediately to let two hurrying C-Sec officers past. Garrus caught a glimpse of recognition from one of them, a salarian, but he had never personally been very good at telling the lizards apart. The corridors looked positively packed with officers running back and forth, sipping coffee while moving with haggard purpose about their business. Garrus tried to avoid eye contact where he did recognize familiar faces. _Didn't leave this place on the best of terms. Still … I have high hopes that turning to them will prove helpful._

"Seems like the galaxy's gone mad lately," said Bailey, casting a backward glance at Garrus quickly before nearly colliding with an asari. "Sorry, Reina. Anyway, ITSA colonies getting attacked, protoss shanking each other on the Citadel, and now Earth's decided to show up. Didn't think I'd see it in my lifetime."

"Is it a good thing?" asked Garrus, struggling to remember … well, anything about the far distant terran homeworld. "Sounds like they're trying for their own Unification War."

"Normally you don't gotta ask if war's a good thing or not," replied Bailey, clearly amused. "I mean, for them conspiracy nuts who're still claiming that Tarsonis was the Emperor's doing, maybe they'll enjoy the prospect. But for someone like me, born on Korhal, fought for the Sons? Pfft." Bailey shook his head suddenly, as if trying to fight some kind of sudden impulse. "He'll see the Dominion through. This Earth people don't know what they're up against. I expect your government will lend a hand if it has to."

 _Will it?_ Garrus could not genuinely say. For whatever reason, Hierarchy news channels tended to demonize the terran emperor at every opportunity, even as they banded together against the KMC/Hegemony's expanding influence and Mengsk continued to treat both the Union and Hierarchy relatively evenly. _And if historical precedent means anything … well. Maybe Earth could be seen as in the right. But the Dominion is part of the Citadel._ Suddenly, Garrus thought he could understand why politicians were such furtive little shits most of the time. _No matter what they do, they're breaking a promise to someone._

"Here we go." Bailey stopped before a heavy door and input the code. The door slid open with a low hiss, revealing the soundproofed interrogation rooms beyond. "He's in Room 3. You still want to wait for Kerrigan? She's probably going to force you to play good cop."

"I'm thinking we can manage bad cop and worse cop." Garrus cast Bailey a sidelong glance while he chuckled. "Thanks for doing this, Bailey. I know the Executor still wants my gizzard on a plate … and doesn't like Spectres besides. You sure you'll be okay?"

"I'm not so sure I'll be sticking around for much longer anyway, Garrus," replied Bailey, looking back down the hall at the bustling officers. "Every day it seems like we're inching towards a bloodbath … and now my home might be attacked. I got worse things to be worried about than a reaming from Pallin." Bailey extended his hand and Garrus shook it, only to be drawn in closer to the Captain, who whispered into his ear.

"Besides, if you ask me, you were in the right to blow up that damn transport," he said, voice hushed yet harsh. "Forget the political bullshit. Our job is to do some damn justice, and by God justice was served that day." Garrus gently pulled himself away, examining the steely glint in Bailey's eye.

"Thanks." Garrus did not know what else to say. _Captain … to be honest even I'm not sure I did the right thing at this point. I've seen the limits of vigilantism. If you're a cop without a badge, people know it just means you don't have any backup. Sometimes … I guess the law is supposed to be your backup._

 _Disregard that thought._ Kerrigan's voice intruded without warning, making Garrus's mandibles droop in shock. He ran a finger along the side of his face, pressed it against his skull. _No sign of intrusion._ And yet here came Kerrigan, darting around disgruntled C-Sec officers, her hair whipping about behind her.

"Good to see you, Sarah," said Bailey, offering a hand. Kerrigan shook it, but Garrus could not help but notice the stiffness on her part. _Hmm. Interesting._

"Any luck with the Barla Von?" Something about that volus had always made Garrus very … wary. It was one thing to be affiliated with the Shadow Broker – Spirits knew he came in handy on occasion – but it was another to have a perfect alibi at all times of day whenever it came time to call at his door … even when he was in no way connected to any crimes that C-Sec knew of. _And obviously, we can't even see his face. Only time I've ever been scared of a volus._

"He claims he doesn't know anything about Vasir," replied Kerrigan, brow briefly furrowing. "Sounds like a crock of shit to me. But he did give me names, offered to put me in touch with the Broker, and even offered to sell me parts of a protoss psi blade recovered from the Presidium. It's something. Harkin's in there?" She jerked a thumb down the hallway.

"That he is," said Bailey, wiggling the bits of hair above his eyes. "Knock yourselves out. Or him. Either one's good."

"Come on." Kerrigan didn't wait for Bailey or offer a goodbye, but Garrus followed. The door closed neatly behind them, drowning out the hubbub of the C-Sec station with a sudden hush. _Hope Bailey doesn't take offense._

"Probably best to disregard most of your cop instincts if you become a Spectre, Vakarian," said Kerrigan as they traversed the hallway, their feet clanking against the polished floor. "Sometimes you will be acting against the law. Hierarchy law, Dominion law, Council law … the only thing that matters is that the task is accomplished." She stopped before Room 3, glancing through the small one way mirror inside. "Still … you decided to grab this guy based on what you knew as a cop. Reason?"

"Saren and Nova said Vasir vanished without a trace." Garrus took his turn looking into the mirror. Harkin sat at the table, his fingers drumming against it. Aside from a small bruise above his right eye, the bastard looked unharmed, even complacent. _That'll change._ "Old Harkin here specializes in disappearances. Worst-kept secret on the Citadel – trick is getting the warrant." Garrus turned back to Kerrigan. "You're the warrant. I've got some questions for him – I need you to scare him." _Guess I'm the good cop._

Kerrigan nodded. "Alright. I'll follow your lead. Oh … and if push comes to shove…" _I can always rip his secrets from his mind._

"I'd … prefer if we didn't do that." Garrus knew Kerrigan could sense his revulsion but didn't even bother attempting to suppress it. _No one should have that kind of power. It leaves us all at the mercy of those lucky enough to be gifted._ Kerrigan frowned, but said nothing. _It probably all comes back to the protoss again. They shouldn't be here. Such power cannot be wielded responsibly. You only have to look on the news…_ He didn't have time for rumination. He opened the door, and Harkin lifted his head in a sneer.

"Garrus! Here to join me?" Harkin sucked on the side of his cheek. "Thought they booted you off the force for being a psychotic loose cannon? They lower their standards? Daddy buy your way back in?" Garrus cocked his head at the idiot terran before fully entering, revealing the figure of Sarah Kerrigan behind him. Harkin stared in open shock, eyes wide, lips parted. "Ah, crap."

"Your lawyer won't be coming, Harkin," said Garrus, sitting down on the chair opposite, putting his hands on the table and briefly rattling the (much sharper and more elongated than Harkin's) fingers against the table. The door closed with a soft snap behind them, but Kerrigan did not join him at the table. _Probably leaning against a wall, glaring at him. He knows who she is. Everyone does._

"So," said Harkin, voice trembling. "This is how it's gonna be, huh? Interrogated by the loose cannon and the Council sellout." Harkin's head slammed forward against the table with a dull thud, making Garrus stand in shock, wheeling to face Kerrigan.

"Don't piss me off, Harkin," grunted Kerrigan, who leaned against the wall, giving no sign whatsoever that she had moved a muscle. Her eyes moved to Garrus, issuing a challenge. _No, I'm not backing down. Touch him again and I'm done with this candidacy. Is this how my superiors felt? My father? Strange that I would defend a criminal … but if anyone should lay hands on him, it should be a cop that caught him red-handed. We didn't._

 _Or maybe, Garrus, you're just a hypocrite with a complex against psionics?_ Kerrigan's voice. Garrus ignored it. _Even though she has a point … why did I go to Omega again?_

"Alright," gasped Harkin, head lifting jerkily from the table, the flesh swelling before Garrus's eyes, creating a mighty lump. Harkin brought his hand to his face, clearly dizzy. "Alright – no more mouth. Ow. Crap. Ow."

"I'm a Spectre candidate now, Harkin," said Garrus coolly, sitting again with all the casual malevolence he could muster in the face of the brutal psionic demonstration. "That means no lawyer, no warrant, no trial. Just the three of us, a few questions, a little judgment. I think you know what this is about, don't you?"

"I can list where I've been for every second of every day for the last three months," spat Harkin, a small trail of blood leaking from the side of his mouth. His hand pressed against the swelling mass above his left eye while the still visible eye winced in obvious pain. "You know that, Garrus."

"I'm not interested in your alibis, "Fade,"" replied Garrus, leaning in, his eyes fixed on the unmarred side of Harkin's face. "You make people disappear, people C-Sec is looking for. Guess who we're looking for right now? The whole station, the protoss, and a chunk of the Citadel Defense Fleet besides?"

"You want Vasir?" Harkin laughed, a dry rattling in the back of his throat that betrayed only hysteria. "Thought she was one of yours … guess they all go bad in the end, right Kerrigan? Unless they're like Saren, rotten from the start. Does he know?" Harkin jerked his head towards Garrus, but Garrus didn't have time for games.

"We want answers, Harkin," growled Garrus. "You're in no position to be flippant. Unless you want me to just leave you in the room with Kerrigan? She thinks she can get what's inside your head easily enough."

"That's how you wanna play this?" Harkin laughed again, this time in disbelief. "You're going to leave a mindless husk rotting in a C-Sec interrogation room? What do you think Pallin will do? Spectres can't just go leaving bodies lying everywhere – what makes you think you have that right? What makes you better than those protoss?" Harkin gasped, his hands now fluttering about his throat. Garrus waited, knowing he could do nothing to stop it … and knowing that, in the end, Harkin was a coward. _Torture doesn't work … but psionics do. And that's what Harkin knows he's up against._ The hidden pressure around Harkin's throat released, and the man's head again collided against the table. He wheezed piteously while Garrus looked on.

"Vasir … wasn't … me," he gasped, looking up from the table, red-faced, bloody spit running down his face in a torrent. "I got a few things to own up to … but sneaking that bitch out wasn't one of them."

"Cut the crap," said Garrus, leaning forward. "Who else could have done it? All protoss traffic is being monitored by Praetor Fenix, meaning it had to be one of our own. I want names, Harkin. I want locations. I want dates."

" _Amerigo_ ," sputtered Harkin, wiping the blood from his mouth with his wrist, only to look at the results in disgust. "I can't tell you nothing about Vasir … but you want dirt on the turians? The Dark Templar? I know something. Just please … stop." Garrus said nothing, only waited. Harkin continued, his gaze continually going between Garrus and Kerrigan.

"Got approached by someone," said Harkin. "Never gave me a name, just used the phone. Needed me to sneak something on board. Told them, "not my thing," but then they offered the credits … fuck." Harkin gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Think I got a concussion."

"Keep at it," said Garrus. "Help comes after."

"Right." Harkin gulped, only to look revolted. "Fuck. Alright. Told me to sneak something on board. Not someone, mind you. Found a quiet place to arrange a dock, opened an airlock in one of the seeker tunnels. They sent 'em through. A crate. Filled with psi screens."

"Bullshit," said Kerrigan, abandoning her post by the wall to lean over the table with her hands against it. "Where the hell would they – whoever "they" are – get a crate filled with psi screens?"

" _Amerigo_ ," said Harkin again, and Garrus thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in Kerrigan's eyes. "I had to modify the screens, wipe off any manufacturing marks. Been a while since I worked for the Confederacy, but I remembered that vessel. Worked on ghosts, didn't it? Maybe you … visited?" Harkin grinned weakly at Kerrigan, but stopped rather quickly when her expression did not change.

"Quite a few ships went missing in the Great War," said Kerrigan, eyes never leaving Harkin's face. "Never accounted for. The _Amerigo's_ one of them. Terran science vessel. Yeah, it worked on ghosts. And yeah, I've _visited._ "

"Heh." Garrus could no longer find any trace of smugness in Harkin's voice or face. "I dropped the crate off in the tunnels. Then the payment came, more than I knew what to do with. Had a few months with it, thought about retiring. And then … and then I get word that some of the turians in the attack had the damn things implanted in their heads. Fucking lunatics…" Harkin breathed deeply. "Figured this would get back to me. Money was too good."

"Where is the _Amerigo_?" Garrus leaned forward, putting himself almost perpendicular to Kerrigan's own face, creating a wall of opposition for Harkin to face. "You don't know, do you?"

"Heh." Harkin snorted, only to again look revolted at what came up. "Ugh. I do know, actually. What, you think I was just gonna let crates of psi screens lie about unattended? I talked to Mira Han, told her about what was up for grabs, if we could only find it. She put Orlan and Schezar on it, I sent out some of my people…" Harkin sniffed. "Took a while, but we nailed the location. It's orbiting Pyramus, Mar Sara's moon."

"Mar Sara?" Kerrigan furrowed her brow. "How in the hell did it get there? It went missing during the Great War – there would have been no reason to go there after the Purification. Unless it was somehow dragged…" Kerrigan shook her head. "Whatever. You could be lying."

"Seems like a fucking stupid thing to do in front of a telepath," said Harkin, and Garrus felt inclined to agree with him. "Cross my heart and swear to die … heh."

Kerrigan cast Garrus a glance, and the two of them rose from their positions and exited the room, leaving Harkin to clean himself up.

The door snapped shut, and Kerrigan breathed deeply while Garrus folded his arms and cocked his head.

"I'd have to break him mentally to see if he's telling the truth or not," said Kerrigan. "And – I know – you're against it. I am, too. I didn't always want – or need to – use my powers like this. Psionics can do horrible things." She cast a look at the mirror. "But I like to think that, in the long run at least, some horrible things can be necessary. If we can figure out who's killing civilians and mutilating protoss…"

"It'll all have been worth it," said Garrus dully. "So … _Amerigo's_ a real thing?"

"I've been there," replied Kerrigan with a light chuckle. "It's real enough. Truth be told, I was pretty happy to hear it'd vanished in the Great War. The Confederacy…" She stopped herself. "Well. It was not a happy place. Let's find out if he was lying or not. Aldaris?"

"The protoss councilor?" Garrus felt confused for a moment, until Aldaris's voice rebounded back.

"I hear you, Kerrigan." The protoss's voice did not sound nearly as deep as the others Garrus had heard. "Have you found the monsters responsible for the ruination of my Executor? Have you meted out harsh justice?"

"We're on the path." Kerrigan bit her lip, a gesture Garrus did not understand. "I know you protoss have your observers sprinkled all over space. I need one to check Pyramus, a moon over Mar Sara. Can you do that? How long will it take?"

"A matter of moments." Aldaris did not sound in the slightest bit unsure. "What do you seek?"

"A science vessel, the _Amerigo._ " Kerrigan bit her lip again.

"A few moments." Garrus waited, wondering if the Council knew just how … embedded … the protoss were in all of space. _Instant reconnaissance. Telepathy. Why are they here? Why do they really want the friendship of the Citadel? I have a hard time fathoming anything challenging them._

"I see the vessel," reported Aldaris, making Kerrigan start in surprise. _Does she … have some kind of attachment to this vessel?_ Garrus could not help but feel a slight shiver, a faint chill of anxiety. _I don't like this. I'm not sure why, but I really don't._ "It is the _Amerigo_. Is it the foul nest of these perpetrators? Shall I send forth Fenix? He would welcome the opportunity to shed the blood of those who inflicted such grievous harm upon Selendis."

"No, I'd like to tackle this." Kerrigan exchanged a glance with Garrus, who nodded. "Fenix is a bit of a … blunt instrument. I'll take care of it. And thanks." She looked again to Garrus. "Looks like your guy was telling the truth. Could be a step in the right direction – which is more than I got from Barla Von."

"Glad to hear it." Garrus cast a backward glance at the interrogation room door. "What do we do with him now? The confession would have been recorded, I suppose, but Pallin won't like the degree of duress he was under … or the condition he's in. How's Spectre jurisdiction going to cover that?"

"It just does." Kerrigan motioned Garrus to follow. "If you've got enough power, a lot of rules stop applying. We're backed by the Council. So long as we get results – which we just did – there's not much anyone can do to touch us. The galaxy is your Omega now … Archangel."

 _I really don't like that gleeful tone._ Still, they had got their results. Harkin bled, and it was not like he didn't deserve it. _And we're one step closer – maybe – to uncovering who the hell these turians and Dark Templar are._

They exited the interrogation area together, letting the stern C-Sec officers enter in their wake. _Letting them. Shouldn't be how the law works. What puts us above these people, beyond a better understanding of how to kill?_

"If it's any comfort, our actions will stop the people far more prone to abusing power," said Kerrigan, producing her omnitool and rapidly tapping away at the interface while still sliding through crowds of C-Sec officers with disturbing ease. "Rogue protoss are a much bigger concern than whatever we get up to. I'm sending a communique to Saren. See if he's available for a little derelict run."

 _Huh. I'll get to work alongside Saren. Biotics on one side, psionics on the other…_

"Nope," said Kerrigan, lowering her omnitool and causing it to fade. "He's got his own leads to work on, apparently. And Nova's off to check on some Dominion assets in Council Space before heading back to Korhal, so she's out. Not that we could bring her anyway. And Vasir is … well, not an option anymore. We'll need some worthwhile people to take us out there."

"Got any ideas?" Garrus sighed. _Well, maybe some other time. Kerrigan is a legend in her own right, as well. It's not so bad._

"By salvage rights, the Dominion should have access to derelicts in their space, but fuck the Dominion." Garrus's mandibles dropped in surprise at that, and when Kerrigan looked back at him, she laughed. "What? Trust me, I have my reasons. Turians would want the _Amerigo_ , but it would take too long to get a Hierarchy approved team out there." Kerrigan frowned, before smiling again and tapping her suddenly live omnitool. "Kirrahe, you still there?"

"Scouring the tunnels," chirped back the high voice of a salarian. "Didn't know the protoss bled purple until now. And you wouldn't believe what it looks like under UV. Did the turian find something?"

 _The turian._ Garrus glared at the glowing outline of the omnitool.

"Garrus found Harkin, and Harkin showed us where to find the source of those psi screens." Kerrigan tapped her omnitool again, probably sending coordinates. "Pyramus, one of Mar Sara's moons. Not sure how it got there, but the protoss have confirmed its presence. Would be one hell of a score for the Union and Republics – a lot of psionic research went on there. Not all of it was savory, but now it won't go to waste. Plus – we should be able to find evidence of these attackers."

"Better than inhaling protein vat fumes all day." Kirrahe gave a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. "Alright. No need to waste time, then. Meet us at the docks – we'll get you there fast enough. Are you bringing the turian?"

"Garrus will be coming along," replied Kerrigan, stressing his name while rolling her eyes. "Appreciated, Major. We'll see you there." The omnitool faded once more, and Kerrigan motioned Garrus to follow.

"STG?"

"Good enough people to work with." Kerrigan shrugged as they exited the C-Sec offices, making Garrus breathe a sigh of relief. _Don't want to run into Pallin._ "I've always found salarians a bit unpredictable; the STG are worse. But if you need something done and can't get a Spectre, they're a wonderful second bet. Most of the Spectres through history have been ex-STG."

Garrus tried to recall if his father had ever ranted about the STG. _Hmm. No, not that I can recall. Probably because the likelihood of his children joining a salarian spec-ops group was vanishingly unlikely._

"Couldn't we just hire a freighter or something?" asked Garrus. "Wouldn't the Umojans be glad to pick this up?"

"The Umojans would want the vessel scoured for evidence and then destroyed, all research with it," stated Kerrigan bluntly. Then she shivered. "And for good reason, believe me. But it would still be a waste."

"We headed to the docs?" asked Garrus, suddenly curious. Kerrigan shook her head before stopping and smiling before an out of the way elevator. "Spectre Requisitions. I don't know what we're going to find on the ship, but we'll need gear." Her omnitool lit up once more, and she tapped in what must have been a sixteen digit long key code. She took a quick glance at Garrus's face. "Excited?"

"Yeah." Garrus folded his arms, a grin playing on his features. "I guess I am."

They descended the elevator together, Kerrigan listing out everything they had in their arsenal.

"All manner of longarms, for all manner of races," said Kerrigan. "Modified Phaeston rifles and Imperator rifles, a few turian grenade launchers whose names I can't pronounce. Claymore shotguns and Carnifex pistols, a few Widow and HEV variants … oh, and CMC suits obviously. Although I don't think very many Spectres use them." She shrugged. "Not very stealthy and you can't fit through every door. Not always worth it."

"When I first saw those things, couldn't wait to get my hands on one." Garrus sighed, remembering the shock of seeing those clanking monstrosities walking side by side with General Victus. _Only time I ever got to see him. More than most, I guess, but still. Weird to think that a few days later he would be taking the plunge on Thessia._

"He was … a good man." Kerrigan looked away for a second. "The first alien I ever spoke to. The first alien any terran had ever spoken to, really. I guess Raynor was doing his pantomime on Mar Sara, but does that count?" Kerrigan's eyes lost focus before she shook her head, red hair glancing Garrus's own face in the process. "He was a far more honorable man than most of the Sons he ended up working with. He deserved better, if I'm any judge."

"He has quite a few memorials on Palaven." Garrus clenched his fists. _Far more than the paltry few afforded to people like my sister, who died before the "real sacrifices" could begin._ "And speaking of Raynor-"

The elevator halted and the doors slid open, revealing a truly mouthwatering number of guns.

"Spirits…" breathed Garrus, taking an unsteady step forward into the ballistics wonderland he found himself in. Weapons hung on racks in the walls, shone from within lockers, lay stacked in boxes. Armor too, gleamed everywhere weapons could not be found; smaller armor hung on the walls and in shelves, while the hulking forms of CMC derivatives stood proudly in the back, as immense as they were inherently threatening.

"Take what you need," said Kerrigan from behind him. "I've got it all covered. I'll admit … I'm curious as to what you'll choose. Just bear in mind that the corridors of science vessels can be a little … cramped."

"What does Saren usually go for?" asked Garrus, curious even as he felt a little embarrassed over it.

"He thinks pistols are for toy soldiers, so he doesn't usually bother with those. Just sticks to a biotic amp, shotgun, and sniper rifle." Kerrigan shrugged. "You ask me, he's not one for the middle ground, regardless of what he's doing. Only deals with extreme ranges. He doesn't like CMC suits, though. Says they mess with his biotics."

Garrus cast a glance at the enormous suits of armor in the back. _Yeah … much as I love the idea of tearing through a battlefield in one of those things, I'm going to have to go with finesse._

After a brief examination of the collection of Phaeston rifles, Garrus found one that sang to him. He lifted it, examined it, and then finally caressed it. _This'll do._

Garrus felt briefly tempted to go over the sniper rifles – his eyes slithered longingly over a few of the Widow variants in particular, his eyes scanning their barrels up and down – but felt that if conflict arose on a space ship, something a little more close quarters would actually be useful. He'd never found much use for shotguns in the past, but selected a glinting Scimitar nonetheless. _Even though I'd probably swap to my omnitool before I'd ever use this thing. Still … nothing more vicious at close quarters than an automatic shotgun._

"Try knives," said Kerrigan, who had placed several into pouches all over her suit. "Shotguns still require a bit of room to aim. Get in close, it doesn't matter." She slung a rifle over her back. _Guess she's not doing the heavy armor thing, either._ "Nope. Pick out a suit, Garrus."

Garrus's stuck with the Hoplite suit; light, tough, and brand new if the smell and feel of it was any judge. _Reminds me of my first day in C-Sec…_

"Alright, I'll have this all moved on to Kirrahe's ship," said Kerrigan, startling Garrus out of his memory. "Grab your clothes and food from our vessel. It's going to take a day or two to get there, and I don't intend to stop for a resupply in turian space if you start to starve or stink. You want Dock 32, Kithoi Ward. Ask for the STG ship, they'll know the one."

"Right." Garrus thought back to the trip over to the Citadel. _Vasir was there the whole time, but there was no sign of anything off. Could this_ Amerigo _have answers?_

The trip back to Kerrigan's small transport was uneventful, barring Garrus's own continued musings. _Galaxy just feels so … fractured, right now. Feel like we should be doing something more impactful than boarding a derelict floating in the middle of nowhere. Guess I have to take it on faith that others are tackling these rogue Templar as well … that others are looking into the UED and ITSA attacks. Damn. To only have the one pair of hands._

It had been a long time since Garrus had felt like a civilian. Hustling through the crowds of the Citadel with a tote bag over his shoulder, seeking out the nearest available public transport – just another turian in a crowd. Like everyone else, he craned his neck when a lone protoss Templar pushed its way through, its eyes and mind scanning everyone and everything for sign of wrongdoing, part of the Praetor's ongoing witch hunt. Garrus looked around, seeing the faces of asari, terrans, salarians, krogan, elcor … _Wonder how many of them lost people in the Great War? Where were you, protoss? When you're not blowing us up, the galaxy falls victim to some greater horror while you squabble…_

When Garrus told the volus at the docking bay desk what he was looking for, he detected no small degree of surprise from him.

" _You_ want the STG ship?" He gave a wheezy chuckle. "Well … good! It's good to see that salarians and turians can work together." He tapped a few keys on the computer in front of him before pointing a gloved and stubby finger to his left. "Second door. Good luck!" The volus then pointedly looked away from Garrus. He suspected the salarians had told him to forget about meeting them as soon as possible. _Or maybe the STG just makes him nervous. I can sympathize._

Despite feeling awkward during his brief journey as a civilian, the experience paled in comparison to walking on to a salarian vessel in nothing more than a few bare clothes and not a weapon on him. It did not help that the salarians waited at the other side of the docking tube, lined up to either side, arms folded, apparently expecting him, their stark white armor standing at odds with the steel gray of the structure they stood in.

One stood in the center and met Garrus halfway, a hand extended. Garrus shook it, almost surprised when there was no kind of electric shock.

"Major Kirrahe, Special Task Group," said the salarian, his high voice at odds with the stern expressions of his men. _Damn salarians. Easy to forget how dangerous they can be._ "Garrus Vakarian, am I right? You caused quite a stir on the Citadel a few months ago."

"Yeah." The salarian did not let go of his hand. Garrus applied firmer pressure, but Kirrahe only smiled.

"I'm not surprised Kerrigan opted for a firebrand such as yourself," said Kirrahe. "She was always fond of Jim Raynor, a man I also understand prefers to work outside the law when the law does not meet his standards of … justice." Kirrahe tightly squeezed Garrus's hand, making him grunt as it cracked as a bone clicked into place. Kirrahe released his grip with a wide smile and offered a low bow. "Still, to have been considered for candidacy by Kerrigan, a ghost? She sets high standards. I am honored to work with you."

"Thank you," said Garrus, flexing his free hand. He felt no real pain at least, just a mild ache. A shadow of discomfort. "Hopefully there won't be any kind of resistance. It's just a derelict."

"Unless these terrorists are busy harvesting materials from them, as they have been known to do," said Kirrahe, a smaller smile now playing on his lips. "But yes – with luck this should be a simple search. Kerrigan said you were the one who grabbed Harkin?"

"Yes." Garrus checked behind him, wondering where Kerrigan was. _Get me out of this interrogation, dammit._ "He was ex C-Sec, one of the first terran officers. We booted him once the novelty wore off and Udina gave us permission – more evidence of corruption than I could personally believe. But he just turned to crime, and he knew the system." Garrus shrugged. "Turns out that if you're a Spectre, you don't need a warrant. Figured he'd be involved somewhere in this business."

"Good instincts." Kirrahe nodded appreciatively. He moved to the side, extending a hand towards the ship. "So sorry to keep you waiting. Please – come aboard. I will show you your quarters."

The quarters, such as they were, consisted of nothing more than bunkbeds stacked on top of one another in an out of the way corner of the ship. Two had been slid separately from the others, which bunched up uncomfortably close.

"We only sleep an hour a day," said Kirrahe, catching Garrus's expression. "Don't worry – we'll accommodate you and Kerrigan; we'll keep the shifts so that you have your privacy."

"Right." Garrus dumped his bag of clothes and food atop the top bunk of his chosen bed. _In the company of salarians._

"We're running through flight checks, then it's a non-stop shot to Relay 118." Kirrahe smiled again. "Ever been through?"

"No." Garrus climbed atop the bunk bed and sat in place, staring down at Kirrahe. "The Koprulu Sector's never been kind to turians. I'd prefer if we didn't stay."

"That will probably be up to Kerrigan's discretion, I'm afraid." Kirrahe folded his arms behind him. "Still … I wouldn't worry. I don't think any of us could be considered welcome there. Probably best if we just do our jobs and leave."

"What happened to that work ethic of yours, Major?" Kerrigan sauntered in, surveyed the beds, and promptly threw her bag on the top of the other bunk. "We'll want a thorough search; grab all of the Confederate goodies we can get our hands on before we leave. Speaking of … we're ready for takeoff."

"Good!" Kirrahe beamed at the Spectre before activating his omnitool. "Tolan – we're ready to go. Let's get out from under the protoss's noses for a bit."

The salarian squeaked something on the other end of the line before the omnitool went dead. Kirrahe bowed deeply to the two of them.

"Feel free to explore, eat, do as you will, essentially. So long as you do not inhibit my crew's productivity – a feat if ever there was one – there will be nothing to worry about." Kirrahe exited swiftly after that. To Garrus, it seemed as if the salarian had flipped some switch in his mind from "interact" to "work." _Salarians are like that, I suppose._

"Guns and armor are in their armory," said Kerrigan, folding her arms and staring up at him. "They treating you okay?"

"About what I expected." Garrus averted his eyes. "Still … would have preferred working with the Umojans … or just doing this alone. Are you expecting any kind of resistance?"

"Two things crawled over Thessia and Tarsonis when the Great War was over," replied Kerrigan. "Zerg, and looters. I'm not ruling out either here. Science vessels have always been fine targets for pirates and scavengers … but this one worked on ghosts." Kerrigan brow furrowed, an expression of worry that always seemed so perplexingly … blatant … to Garrus. "That attracts a very different breed of interest, as we've already seen. You've done okay against the Dark Templar so far. Let's hope it holds up if worst comes to worst…"

Garrus did not share Kerrigan's lingering discomfort over the prospect of the _Amerigo_. Kerrigan, however, did not share in his own discomfort at interacting with salarians.

"It seems the dalatrasses missed another egg for the winnowing pool!" bellowed an off-duty salarian at a fellow crewman over some kind of board game. "However, while the fault lies with your birth mother for making the initial error, it is _you_ who persists in your infamy by refusing to stop drawing breath!"

The other salarian lashed out with his small fists, a flurry of blows that left Garrus faintly impressed but mostly alarmed. He leapt from his bunk and rushed toward the two brawling salarians, but both had already dusted themselves off and stormed in separate directions by the time he arrived.

Ten minutes later, he caught them chatting and indeed, briefly embracing in the corridor outside the room.

"And of course, the offer to my niece's music recital still stands, once we are back on Sur'kesh!" said the one who issued the insult.

"Ah – it will be marvelous to see how she's grown!" The other replied. Then the two turned around and walked briskly in two separate directions, leaving Garrus utterly confused.

"The turian lifestyle is just as confusing to other aliens, Garrus," said Kerrigan from her bunk, not even looking up from her omnitool. "Salarians process their emotions quickly – they don't have the time to hold grudges. Not like us. We just sit and stew, don't we?" She looked over her omnitool at Garrus. "Don't worry. If push comes to shove, they have our backs." _Yeah, but … how long will that last?_ Kerrigan smiled and deactivated her omnitool. "Since we have a bit of time, let's get some training in. Quite a few ghosts have trouble reading turians … but we might be up against protoss. Come on, let's see if we can't close you off."

The rest of the trip felt like some kind of disjointed dream. In between the crazed antics of the salarians and some basic physical regimen to wipe away the damage of Omega, Kerrigan ran him through breathing exercises, focusing on one thing to the exclusion of all others (a kind of hyperfocus Garrus usually only associated with sniping,) and taught him to read the tells in terran facial expressions.

"It's worthwhile," she said. "Salarians I can't help you with, but terrans and asari use quite a few of the same muscle groups when hiding deception, at the very least. And believe me, you will be dealing with terrans more than anyone else. Sparatus and Linron don't dare bring Spectres into the cold war equation just yet. We're just blunt instruments against the KMC and Hegemony until the situation really escalates. Then … I guess we'll see where everyone's loyalties lie. Now – I love Saren Arterius." Garrus watched for the slight crinkle of the forehead.

"A lie," said Garrus, feeling strangely relieved.

"I respect Saren Arterius."

"A truth, naturally," said Garrus after a moment's hesitation. "Although even without knowledge of that tell, it would have been my guess."

"Blasto 13 was both a good film and mostly faithful to the events of Thessia."

"You say it like it is a lie, but I found it to be a fine movie." Garrus twitched his mandibles in slight dismay. "I cried when Victus died."

Garrus already knew how to recognize outward signs of terran happiness (such as smiling) as well as other blatantly obvious clues, but Kerrigan opened up his mind to a much greater (and to be blunt, tedious) world of terran interaction. After about two hours of explanation regarding what different types of posture indicated, Garrus welcomed the meditation that followed. _I am beginning to suspect that a male terran would have a much simpler view of body language._

"Of course, different cultures have different uses for body language," said Kerrigan, making Garrus groan. "Shaking your head means "no," but in certain parts of Haji it can mean "yes." For the most part, however, this education should be consistently accurate. Earth was already jettisoning most of its cultures in favor of homogeny by the time we got sent out here."

"So … this might work on the terrans in the UED?" Garrus felt a slight surge of satisfaction at how Kerrigan frowned at this.

"It's been a long time since we've left … but yes. That could very well be the case." She nodded. _Approval. And … slight affection._

Faint nuances became clear to Garrus now; Kerrigan's posture and frequent folding of arms indicated a closed off demeanor, but now she saved it mostly for the salarians. He mostly got smiles and nods. _It might just be me … but it seems as if she has few friends._ It would make sense, after all. She was very much defined in the eye of the public; a brutally powerful psionic warrior in service of the Citadel. _Something she can't step away from._ He smiled to himself as he realized Kerrigan had not caught any of this, having retreated to her bunk. _So. I can keep out the cursory scans. Keep at it, Vakarian, and you may even be able to hold out against a concentrated effort._

On the final day, Kirrahe shook Garrus awake from an unpleasant nightmare involving being caught between a Dark Templar and a thresher maw.

"Passing through the relay now," said Kirrahe. "I would get suited up. Mar Sara is very close."

Garrus grumbled but rose, trying to discard the fleeting images of hissing shadows and boiling soil. _Spirits help me if that situation ever comes up in real life._ He dropped from the bunk with a muttered thanks to Kirrahe, and descended to the armory.

"The relay where it first happened," said Kerrigan as he entered, fixing a magazine to her rifle with a faint click. "The planet where it all began. A piece of terran and turian history. I wonder if the protoss regard the place with any reverence? Somehow, I doubt it."

"Just the place where they slaughtered a few more turians." Garrus snorted. He found his own armor and weapons neatly laid out opposite Kerrigan. "Appreciated."

"Didn't want it getting hidden under a pile of salarian crap," replied Kerrigan. "Nervous? This will be your first real op."

"It's a derelict." Garrus rolled his neck before bending over to pick up his armor. "A very old derelict at that. Should be easier than handling a protoss ambush in the Citadel Tower … while unarmed." He pounded his chest once, feeling the sturdiness of the armor. _Good enough._ The two weapons slid neatly on his back. _No messing around with magazines. I won't be running out ammunition on an op for Spirits' sake._

"Right." Kerrigan wiped a strand of hair from her face … _no. Sweat. Why are you sweating?_

The ship shuddered once, followed by a few lengthy seconds of weightlessness and unreality. _Ah. I heard that the jump was long. So here we are …_ The ship shuddered again. _The Koprulu Sector._

"Mar Sara is on screens!" declared a salarian voice over the intercom. "Approaching the moon. Kerrigan, my team will meet you and Garrus at the portside airlock."

"Finally." Kerrigan gave Garrus a final look before pulling the mask over her face, shielding herself from the vacuum … and prying eyes. "Let's hope Mira Han hasn't gotten greedier than usual."

When they reached the portside airlock, Garrus felt himself taken aback at the transformation of the previously slim and physically unthreatening STG agents into … well, they looked more like Kerrigan at this point. Every inch of them was covered in armor, and they stared at him through the thin slits of their visors, muttering to each other in low voices. No one laughed. There were no mentions of music recitals.

"Good, we're almost ready." A salarian with Kirrahe's voice stepped to the front. "We took a good long scan of the derelict. Looks like the fusion core is still active, but most systems are shut down. There aren't any other ships in the area. Looks like we'll be alone."

 _Well … barring that protoss observer._ Garrus shivered slightly. _How many of them are there, keeping watch on us? And if something goes wrong, will Aldaris intervene?_

"This science vessel was not equipped to have a Council regulation docking tube shoved into it," said Kirrahe loudly. "Fortunately, there is a massive gaping hole in the side of the ship. Saves us a spacewalk. Once we're on board, we take what we can … and then we plant the bomb."

"Bomb?" Garrus chuckled. "Why am I not surprised. Got a good reason?"

"This ship is in Dominion space, Vakarian." Kirrahe pulled the lever that released the docking tube. "There's no way to get it through the relay without detection. No point in letting it fall into Mengsk's hands … or worse. Point being: this place stops being exploited today."

"After we've exploited it." Garrus smirked from underneath his own helmet. "Sounds good."

The docking tube made a thunking sound. The salarians stiffened.

"By the numbers, gentlemen. If the Spectres would kindly take point…?"

The airlock doors slid open. Kerrigan advanced, laser sight visible in the gloom as she traversed the empty expanse, Garrus following behind with his Phaeston checking every movement. Behind them, the salarians lugged a huge crate between four of them, while another eight provided overwatch from behind.

All sound beyond the thudding of his own footsteps and the whisper of his breath faded. Garrus followed Kerrigan to the end of the docking tube and dropped the two feet into the science vessel, slowly turning to take in the sight beyond the exposed hull.

"Mar Sara," he breathed. "I remember seeing that footage, over and over."

The planet looked like a burned nut, charred over and ripe to crack into pieces. Great fractures of red could be seen in the deep black of its surface, and even from the incredible distance, enormous plumes of flame flared into existence before fading once more. _Heavy geological activity. The effects of the protoss purification never fully died down._

The two of them stepped away from the edge of the docking tube, letting the salarians carefully descend with their package. The remainder of the team filed through.

"Follow." Kerrigan and Garrus maintained point while the salarians reoriented themselves, a few of them muttering about the view. Together, they crept underneath the yawning lip of the still-intact section of the hull before coming to a sealed door.

Kirrahe waved Garrus and Kerrigan aside and motioned for another salarian to come forward, brandishing a welding torch. The salarian laboriously applied the vivid flame to the edges of the door while the others looked on, each silently willing the bastard to move faster. _At least the view is nice. Because dead planets are beautiful and in no way foreboding._

The torch shut off with a hiss, and the salarian stepped back before aiming a kick at the center of the door. It slammed out of its new glowing hinges with a muted clatter, and pressure rushed out of the new hole. Kerrigan waited a few moments before proceeding, her gun training on the interior. Garrus followed obediently, trying not to feel slightly unnerved at the proceedings. _Feels like a tomb. How exactly did this place get taken out? What became of the crew?_

Their feet thudded against the dull metal, an unwelcome intrusion into the emptiness. Garrus followed Kerrigan down the long corridor, looking upward every ten feet to check the overhead vents. Fans still spun above in the blackness, their shadows visible against the dim emergency lights that still persisted even so many years later. _Still barely alive, gasping for breath while in orbit over a useless moon attached to a dead planet._

The corridor came to an intersection, making Kerrigan pause. Garrus stood alongside her, his weapon steady in his hands, an outstretched hand facing any looming horrors. The salarians did not take long to catch up. They planted their payload with a muted _clunk_ and looked at Kerrigan expectantly, heads cocked.

"This is just the service level," said Kerrigan, head turning to face each of the four passageways in the intersection. "Maintenance, things like that. You want the medical and operations decks. Three and four. We'll restore power – should get us some brighter light at least. Then we'll do a once over on all the decks. Got it?"

"I'll give you eight hours to work with, Kerrigan," said Kirrahe. "Then this place goes. And if something goes wrong … if there's someone else here … we pull back to the tube and detonate the _Amerigo_ at a safe distance. Got it?"

"Yep." Kerrigan looked to Garrus, nodding. "Work to do, Vakarian. Time to learn a bit of history." She took off down the lower right tunnel, and Garrus followed, his heart thudding beneath his armor. The fans spun overhead still, their constant motion casting flickering shadows.

The tunnel terminated suddenly at a turbolift, whose doors remained solidly shut. Kerrigan laughed as Garrus produced an omnitool, shaking her head.

"Not compatible." She gestured with two fingers, and the doors crumpled, flinging themselves apart. "In for a bit of a climb." She shouldered her rifle and Garrus followed suit. He grunted in dismay as Kerrigan ascended a frail looking ladder that stretched into the dim and out of sight, but it nevertheless felt sturdy enough under his own weight.

"This elevator would normally lead to the core," called Kerrigan down from her position. "Did you see the sign back there? Supposed to be wearing a suit, and that's for when the core is properly maintained. Probably soaking up an unpleasant amount of background radiation right now. Ah well. Can't be helped."

The ladder stopped suddenly about forty feet up. Kerrigan had already torn open the second set of doors and pulled herself through. Garrus cast her a slightly worried look as he surveyed the gap between the door and ladder, but nodded when she extended her hand. He turned a leg around the edge of the bent door frame and planted a foot on solid ground, edging it along while also sliding his other foot to the end of the ladder. He did not fall … but if he had, there was no doubt Kerrigan would have caught him.

"Alright," breathed Kerrigan, gesturing ahead. "Shouldn't take a genius to get this place's lights turned on, at least."

They stepped through the deserted control room while Garrus cast furtive glances through the reinforced windows, at the faintly humming core beyond it.

"Here." Kerrigan stopped before what looked like some kind of pod. "Computer – code 3A, 9C, 00, Fairbanks. Agent Kerrigan reporting."

The pod opened with a wheezing hiss, making Garrus step back in shock. A decrepit looking terran … robot … thing … stared down at the two of them, its empty eyes whirring and clicking.

"Acknowledged," it said in a feminine voice. "Disengaging emergency protocols. Activating primary life support and light systems. Records indicate…" The machine whirred and clicked. "Forty days since last access. The _Amerigo_ Science Team would like to thank the engineers for all their hard work in maintaining the integrity of this ship. Have a wonderful-"

"Forty days?" Kerrigan cut in. The machine whirred again, directed its lifeless eyes at the ghost.

"Yes." Kerrigan shot a look at Garrus.

"Computer, who previously accessed you?"

"Unregistered user." The machine clicked again. "Audio recording taken per Confederate Security Protocol AJAX."

"Play it," said Garrus, breathless. The machine paused, lying motionless for a moment before sparking to life with a very different voice.

"Work faster, Orlan," said a deep voice, a voice that reverberated within itself. _Dark Templar._ Garrus shivered. "Remember – we need any and all genetic information."

"Confederate hardware ain't aged well," said another voice, male, terran. He grunted and sighed. "Alright. You online?"

"I am functional and ready to serve you. Bypass acknowledged, state of emergency recognized."

"Damn right!" The terran chuckled. "Alright, I need directions to the damn psionic records. About a third of the Confederacy's ghosts came through here at some point, and I want their medical records. Also – where are the psi screens?"

"Medical records can be found on the medical sub-sector. Chief Medical Officer Kelly kept all files on his office computer. Psi screens can be found at all security checkpoints. The _Amerigo_ Medical Team would like to remind all staff that prolonged exposure to psi screens has been proven to-"

"Right, yeah, got it," said the terran, clearly annoyed. "Thanks – that's it, computer." Sounds of footsteps could be heard. "C'mon. Boss lady's gonna kill me if she knows what I did. You come up with a hiding spot yet?"

"Refuge and payment may be found on Illium," intoned the Templar. "Remain there until we have further use for you. I will acquire the necessary items."

"Right, right…" The strange AI ceased all motion and sound after a few seconds of muttering. Kerrigan let out a slow exhale.

"Illium's not much of a hint," said Garrus. "There's about eleven billion people on that planet, last I checked. This "Orlan" is just going to be one more refugee. Let's see if we can find anything else."

Kerrigan nodded, and headed for the elevator. Garrus, however, stopped.

"Computer," he said, and the computer twitched into life. "What was the last log before the forty day mark?"

"Last log made – 1242 days ago," said the computer. "User: Ashley Thompson, engineer. Recording begins."

"Specimens loose," whispered the low voice of a woman. "She walks the halls. Specimens loose. Seen too much. She told us no survivors." Distant shrieking, far higher and more bestial than anything Garrus could think of resonated from the recording. "Should have surrendered to the Dominion. Oh God … mom, I'm-" Garrus started in fright as the computer jerked, a high pitched buzzing coming from it. It did not stop.

"End recording," said Kerrigan tersely. The noise ceased. Garrus sighed, not sure what his impulse had accomplished beyond making him very, very anxious. "That doesn't really clear things up."

"Kerrigan, this is Kirrahe!" The voice made Garrus wince in surprise. _Getting edgy._

"Go ahead, Major."

"This vessel is beginning to raise some unfortunate questions," said Kirrahe, his voice taking on an unfriendly tone.

"Like what?" asked Kerrigan after a moment's silence, taking the bait.

"Questions such as "why are there cryogenically preserved zerg on a Confederate ship?""

Garrus stopped dead and stared at Kerrigan, heart thudding. _Cryogenically frozen? Still? And … why?_

"The Confederacy planned to use them as weapons," said Kerrigan slowly. "Just one of many crimes they committed. It's not that surprising. I'm guessing they made sure that auxiliary power wouldn't let the bastards thaw."

"Doesn't sound like it worked all the way…" Garrus cast a glance back at the computer. _Spirits…_

"Several specimens seem to be missing," continued Kirrahe. "Fortunately, I don't mean broken out … I mean there are gaps where entire tubes have been taken away. Still – no sign of the crew. No skeletons or old blood stains … but plenty of medical data."

"Good." Kerrigan stopped, shot a look at Garrus, and shook her head. "Garrus … we need to go to medical real quick. Something I have to do." Something in her tone made Garrus uneasy. _But perhaps it is simply what we have seen … and heard._

The descent down the elevator shaft felt almost relaxing after the computer's recordings. The lack of sound and newfound light … _like a nice stroll on Palaven._

The tunnels no longer felt intimidating in the full light, but the lack of bodies was beginning to unnerve Garrus. The entire place felt empty in a very … deliberate way. _As if someone was scraping blood off the walls. Cleaned up after themselves._

To Garrus's relief, the new tunnel Kerrigan led him down terminated at a functional elevator. They climbed in relative silence … although Garrus continually checked Kerrigan's body language. _She's nervous, on the edge of her feet, glancing around._ Garrus wanted to chalk it up to the locale. Something told him that wasn't it.

The medical deck shone with white. _Sterility. Purity._ Even through the accumulated grime of years spent adrift, the air of enforced cleanliness gleamed through the murk. Kerrigan stopped at the threshold of the elevator, falling behind Garrus for the first time.

"Deep breaths," said Garrus, part encouragement and part observation. Kerrigan flashed him a thumbs up and stepped forward.

"They did horrible things to psionics here, Garrus," she said as they passed by the reception area. The chairs and signs gave way to tight hallways … and stretchers. Stretchers with restraints. "Memories come flooding back from a time I wasn't … Sarah. The way the doctors cooed over me … said it was a shame I needed all the restraints. Mental and physical."

They stopped before a small door, one Garrus almost failed to notice. It looked so innocuous. Color a faint cream, beneath the dirt. No numbers or letters…

"I'm inclined to agree with them, now." Kerrigan's voice took on a harsh tone. "Their shackles still remain after all this time. Do you know anything about ghost conditioning, Garrus? It's a combination of hypnosis and chemical treatment that limits the more powerful operatives … leaves them unable to break certain boundaries that would make them impossible to control."

Kerrigan brought a hand to her face and pulled away the mask. She shook her hair out, letting the red cascade behind her. When she looked to Garrus, it was with a smile on her face. Garrus could see that it was nervous, forced. The edges of her mouth wavered.

"We're up against protoss, and there are still certain limits that I cannot cross, Garrus." Her brow furrowed. "There are places in my own mind … memories buried by medical sorcery. Hidden reins that would let me grab the universe. The Council freed me from all other masters – but part of me has always remained a slave of the Confederacy." Kerrigan bit her lip, looked back to the door. "But there's a way to undo it. In there."

"You want to take ancient equipment and let it operate on you?" Garrus shook his head. "Kerrigan … is that why we came to this deck? Was your first thought when Harkin said the word _Amerigo_ … was your first thought that you wanted this?"

"No."

"That's a lie. You shouldn't have taken off your mask." Garrus looked back to the inconspicuous door. "What's behind there?"

"A chair." Kerrigan sighed. "Some needles. It doesn't take very long. I don't know about undoing it, though." She stepped closer to Garrus. "Please … it's for the betterment of Council space. It would mean that, should I ever meet Vasir again, she won't stand a chance. No one will." Her fists clenched. "You and I – we would be beholden to no one. We would fear no one. Forget Pallin. Forget Aria. Forget Harper and Mengsk and… and Raynor."

"Not sure what they have to do with this … or who the hell Harper is," muttered Garrus, but Kerrigan was not paying attention.

"We would have the strength to defend those who need defending." Kerrigan's fists unclenched. "Look at me. Trust me."

Garrus looked at her. _Yet strangely, what I see is Harkin's face, slamming into a table. You saved me, Kerrigan, but … what will you look like after this? Who will hold you accountable?_

"My personal archangel," whispered Kerrigan, stepping closer, making Garrus back up with his hands raised.

"Say we do this…" Garrus cast another look at the door. "…are there risks? Will it hurt?"

Kerrigan didn't say anything back. Garrus almost felt proud of himself for a moment when he knew the answer to his question without any motion or words from Kerrigan. _Hmm._

"You have bad ideas, Kerrigan," said Garrus, walking to the door and smashing the button. The door flew open with only the hint of a sound. "But if you want to bear the risk … well, the Council will still have Nova."

Kerrigan smirked at that. Her mask dropped from her hands, and she entered the darkness. Garrus followed, heart pounding. Sure enough, there was a chair, reclining backwards. Manacles and an assortment of medical instruments protruded from either side of it. Garrus had not seen Kerrigan look so small before, as she laid down on the beastly looking thing.

Garrus took up position in the booth opposite the chair in which Kerrigan was now seated. After a few moments he found the button to the computer that booted it up, and an array of options appeared before him. He tapped his omnitool and flicked it over, letting it translate.

"You want the Inhibition Remover functions," called out Kerrigan, voice breathless. "Garrus … listen. Once the operation starts, I might scream. I might scream a lot. But no matter what … see it through, okay?"

"Uh." Garrus glanced at his new options, many of which included the phrase "forced removal" or "vital memory extraction."

"Swear it."

"I … swear it."

"On your sister?"

Garrus froze, unsure and a little outraged. _Not for you to talk about, Kerrigan. Not for you to use._

Kerrigan waited for a response, but Garrus gave nothing.

"Just see it through, Vakarian." Kerrigan craned her head back, looking at him. "And if I don't make it … well, I'm sure Saren would be happy to have you. He might not show it … but he told me you were a good choice after the attack on the Tower."

There were no faint wrinkles. _The truth, then._

"Memory suppression removal and systematic restraint purge," called out Kerrigan. "Do it, Vakarian!"

Garrus gritted his teeth and selected the procedure. The chair, previously inert, clunked and grinded its way to life. The restraints tightened, preventing Kerrigan from moving, or even looking back.

"It's okay, Garrus!" she yelled, even as she herself sounded a little panicked. "Really, it's-"

A needle popped out from the side of the chair. No sooner had it appeared, it jammed itself into Kerrigan's neck, the plunger disappearing. Kerrigan convulsed in place, spit flying from her mouth as she twitched and spasmed. Garrus looked on in horror as more instruments moved back and forth, the chair rattling as Kerrigan shook.

The chair ceased its motion momentarily, even if Kerrigan didn't. From behind her head, a screen extended and unfolded above her, putting itself level with her face. Horrible static and a blaring white screen emanated from the infernal device, making Garrus look away and try to block off all sound with his hands. _She told me to do it. She told me to do it. She told me to it._

Kerrigan screamed, her voice mixing with the static to produce a cacophony that rebounded horribly within Garrus's skull, like a ball wrapped in razor wire, tearing the brain to ribbons. The screaming ceased being audible – and yet it continued. Garrus found himself weightless, lifted into the air alongside countless other bit of debris while Kerrigan screamed without ever uttering a sound.

Garrus turned in place, bumping his head against the ceiling as he rotated, trying to regain some semblance of balance. The chair still twisted and turned, but did not rise from where it was bolted on the floor, nor could Kerrigan apparently undo her restraints. Garrus pushed himself along the ceiling, trying to move closer to the chair. _I can stop the procedure. Just get her out of there…_

The screaming stopped. The static ceased. Gravity returned with a simple vengeance, and Garrus fell to his knees with a hard thud. He groaned as a strange kind of ghost pain pooled inside his skull. _Feels like a Thresher Maw of hangover … or worse._ He stood unsteadily, unsure if Kerrigan would unleash another wave of energy.

It seemed unlikely. She sat in place, limp, the restraints having fallen free. A small stream of red dripped from her nostrils and on to her lap. Garrus staggered towards her, tried to feel for a pulse on the neck. _Not much good from the gloves._ He put his head to her chest, listening for a heartbeat. _Well. There's that at least._

"Wake up?" Garrus tapped Kerrigan's cheek, making her head loll but otherwise accomplishing nothing. _Wonderful. I suppose we'll just wait and see if she comes out of this coma, stronger than ever. Until then, assume you just helped Sarah Kerrigan turn herself into a vegetable, Vakarian._

"Kirrahe, this is Vakarian," said Garrus, trying to get the words out without sounding at all worried. "We've had a mishap. Kerrigan decided to play with the medical equipment and now she's, uh, asleep. I'm taking her back to the shuttle."

For several lengthy moments, no one responded.

"Copy that." Kirrahe seemed to be washing his hands of the affair. _Probably thinking that the terrans should be left to their mad science experiments … even the former victims can't be left well alone._

Garrus found Kerrigan's mask thrown to a corner of the room by the psionic display. He affixed it in place, checked that the air flowed correctly, and hoisted her over his shoulder. For all the screaming, all of that power … she barely weighed anything at all.

"Good thing we got the elevators running," said Garrus to the unconscious woman over his shoulder, chuckling bitterly. "Otherwise I'd have had to … throw you down the shaft, I guess."

The previous seeming emptiness of the science vessel could not compare to the yawning silence and stillness that confronted Garrus on his way back to their ship. His own breath was barely audible, and he strained to make sure life signs still came from Sarah. _Was it worth it, Kerrigan? Maybe you wanted to die. Or at least … you were at peace with the notion of it._

The tunnels gave way to the open wound of the vessel, the docking tube still extended. Garrus, having checked and triple checked Kerrigan's hardsuit for any problems with the life support systems, advanced slowly towards the tube … and the uncertain future.

"Major Kirrahe – we've got a problem." Vakarian did not recognize the voice of the salarian, but he guessed it came from the ship. Otherwise Kirrahe would not need to be addressed over radio. _Well, the salarians could have split up, I suppose, but-"_

The world flashed orange for a second, making Garrus look up and glance around. _Only a forlorn moon orbiting a dead planet. What was that? Some kind of solar flare?_

"Major Kirrahe – ship approaching. It fired on empty space, which exploded, somewhat curiously. It is running an intercept course. Unknown profile. Strong heat signatures. Armed. Orders?"

 _Empty space? Wait … the observer. The protoss observer. It saw it._

"That force is not friendly!" called out Garrus. "Major, there was a protoss observer looking over the _Amerigo._ They just destroyed it."

"Are you sure?" Kirrahe didn't wait for an answer, which was good because Garrus wasn't totally sure. He bounded toward the tube, as quickly as he was able, desperate to at the very least get Kerrigan's body on board. "Retract the tube and pull back. If that was a protoss ship, I imagine they will be along shortly. Regardless, pull some of the Dominion's ships from Relay 119 and get them over here, ASAP. It's going to make us look bad, but at least we'll live to see it."

"Wait!" called out Garrus, but the docking tube had begun sliding away from him the very instant Kirrahe ordered it. Garrus struggled forward, trying to make sure Kerrigan did not float away while he moved with all speed possible. _No use._

The tube retreated beyond the lip of the _Amerigo's_ ruin, out of Garrus's reach. He stopped in place, Kerrigan settling between his shoulder and arm, his mentor turned burden. The salarian ship pulled away from the ship, its engines flaring in the black. It disappeared from view quickly, leaving Garrus staring at the empty space where it had once resided.

"Vakarian? You should get inside. Dominion or protoss, doesn't matter, help will be here soon. Vakarian?"

Garrus watched the ship cross the space over the camp, ominous and alien. Its brown hull looked uneven, even melted in places, and large spikes of metal and wiring could be seen punching through at odd intervals. _Looks like … a log. Or maybe … like part of an insect hive? What is this?_

The ship drew closer, and Garrus took that as his cue to move. He hurried back through the vacuum, Kerrigan still held firmly in his grip. _Okay, Vakarian. They're going to board. Or blow the ship up, but you can't do anything about that. Set up a perimeter…_

Weight returned with jarring sensation, and Garrus ran. Ran with a ghost slumped over his shoulder, ran completely uncertain of what to do next.

"Vakarian?" Kirrahe actually sounded worried. _Huh. Nice of him._

"Got Kerrigan," he said, panting, stopping at where they had planted the bomb. It looked primed to detonate, but the timer was halted. "I think they're going to board. Plans?"

"Hold the line," said Kirrahe simply. "Hold the line until the Powers That Be remind these … things … that this is Council space. That the observer belonged to the protoss. Until then, we shall have to prove what the STG and Spectres can do." He paused. "No sign of life from Kerrigan?"

"She breathes," reported Garrus. _Other autonomous functions are probably okay, too._ "Where exactly do you want us to hold the line?"

Something rattled. Metal clanked and shuddered above Garrus, and the air filled with a faint hissing. He let Kerrigan down as gently as he was able next to the bomb before producing his Phaeston from his back. He tried to slow his breathing, scanning each of the surrounding directions. The fans spun overhead, still casting their shadows.

"Got a point of access here!" called out a salarian over the radio. "I don't recognize the-"

The salarian stopped speaking, his radio suddenly blaring gunfire and shouting salarians.

"Dammit Kerrigan," muttered Garrus. The clanking grew louder.

"Third level – breach near surgery bay!" called out Kirrahe. "Vakarian, where are you?"

" **Establishing commensalistic link."** The voice sounded feminine … but deep. Very deep. Footsteps resounded through the left corridor in front of Garrus, towards the breach. He trained his sights, breathing steady. A shaky silhouette emerged from around a corner, its glowing frame partially shadowed beneath the spinning shade of the fan.

" **We are Majesty,"** announced the creature, as if that were somehow helpful. It was tough to make out its finer features, for glowing cracks covered its surface. Four bright golden eyes surveyed Vakarian, the bomb, and the figure of Kerrigan. **"Turian. Appropriate design signatures. Requisite data archived. You have nothing to fear."** The figure strode forward. Garrus squeezed three rounds, each aimed at its face. The being jerked as the bullets cut small chunks of it off, leaving a slightly cracked face. The creature stopped advancing.

" **Resistance is unnecessary. Turian, your requisite data is archived. Terran data still insufficient. Relinquish the ghost. Relinquish this ship."**

More bangs and yells echoed from the floors above, from the walls around. Majesty watched Garrus as he looked to Kerrigan's sleeping form. _Well … for all I know I would be handing over a corpse._ That was but a fleeting moment of weakness however. _Yeah, no. No idea what you are, you insect bastards, but I don't need to know that. Only question is: do you bleed?_

Garrus squeezed the trigger, relinquishing it only after four rounds had passed through the barrel. The creature staggered backward under the onslaught, but Garrus did not let up, firing until the gun steamed in his hands. But when the weapon overheated, Majesty still stood.

" **We-"**

Garrus flicked the omnitool, sending a small burst of flame. The fire collided with Majesty in a great burst, and when the licking flames faded, nothing remained … barring a new noise from further down the same corridor.

" **This form is required. Forging commensalistic bond."**

"Shit."

Garrus slid the weapon on his back, grabbed Kerrigan and hoisted her over, and then ran, using his omnitool to lay mines the whole way.

Pops and bangs followed his wake, but Garrus had no time to listen if it had any effect. Salarians yelled instructions to each other over the radio while Kerrigan drooled on his shoulder, and Garrus's heart pounded in his chest while he lamented not picking the CMC armor.

He slammed his hand into the elevator button. The door opened immediately, making Garrus realize that had it not, this escape would have turned into a dead end. As he darted inside and hammered the third floor button, he was just in time to see a strange blast of flame go flying by the doors as they shut.

" **Secure the specimens. Secure the ghost."**

The elevator opened to a warzone of weapons fire and overturned stretchers. Garrus dragged Kerrigan out of the elevator and laid her against the wall just outside. As an afterthought, he ran back into the elevator and hit the buttons with his omnitool, smashing them in a cascade of sparks. Then he joined the fray.

The enemy – now he could clearly see the enemy. Their appearance was insectoid, wings hidden under a folding part of their carapace on their back. Their four eyes shone yellow and their movements looked twitchy and occasionally undeliberate. And their weapons … looked familiar.

 _Teeth, semi-organic … the Citadel Tower. The turians used these. I used these!_

He fired on the creatures, pausing only to overload the barriers of one when his initial barrage had no effect. The salarians called out to him as he darted in out of cover behind the nearby wall, issuing instructions, curses, questions. Garrus had no time, no time. Distant rumbling could be felt. A deep voice shook the vessel. Then, there she was, strolling in from beyond the lobby.

"Hard target confirmed, focus on the glowing one!"

Majesty cocked her head at the initial onslaught, her hand outstretched, a glowing barrier before her. Her other hand she kept back, primed, a glowing nimbus of light growing within. She unleashed the energy and undid the barrier as one, and a shockwave ripped through the lobby.

 _Boom._ Garrus staggered backwards, accidentally treading on Kerrigan's hand. He muttered an apology in his head, and tried to re-steady. A salarian shrieked something about specimens over the radio, but Garrus had no time, no time at all. The salarians in the lobby had taken the brunt of the shockwave, knocked about while the enemies advanced, guns training on their skulls … _and now the elevator turns to a dead end once more._ He fired on the approaching Majesty, who merely projected the shining honeycomb barrier again, advancing without any sign of experiencing resistance.

Garrus fired until the gun overheated, and produced his shotgun. Majesty advanced. He fired his shotgun over and over again, the weapon slamming into his shoulder until it bruised. Majesty advanced. Garrus deployed a proximity mine from his omnitool. It exploded, and Majesty advanced through the smoke and flame.

Garrus gave a choked roar and rushed forward, omnitool blazing. He swung it in a deadly arc trying to get it around the shield. Majesty grabbed his wrist and held it there easily, as if she were a parent and he a misbehaving child. He stared into the cracked and twitching face of Majesty, at the molten pools of gold bubbling in the misshapen cracks. Under her grip, his wrist blistered and burned.

" **Protoss samples are required. Familiar gene tampering noted and registered. Zerg samples are required. Outliers remain. Turians and salarians, archived and acceptable."** Garrus grunted and struggled as Majesty lifted him into the air by his wrist, his arm feeling as if it would pop from the socket entirely.

" **So much wasted potential already. Worlds burning. Species … slaughtered. Your resistance is unwelcome."**

Garrus shouted in pain as Majesty lifted him higher before bringing him close, his helmeted face inches from Majesty, the heat burning its way through the armor…

Garrus became weightless again before colliding with a stretcher, falling sprawling amidst the medical detritus. He re-oriented in time to see Majesty striding towards the fallen Kerrigan. The other creatures followed, while one raised its strange rifle in his direction.

Garrus rolled in place, his arm clicking as he did so. His omnitool flashed and the creature recoiled from the overload. Garrus snatched up a fallen rifle, aimed it … and stared.

A hydralisk sailed across the ceiling from a vent, uncurling and offering a hungry and hellish grin. The creatures looked up just in time to offer a short panicked insect noise before the creature pounced, landing on the creature with a crunch. _The … specimens._

"Grab Kerrigan!" said a voice from behind him. Kirrahe and two salarians darted in from beyond the lobby, weapons blazing. "Released hydralisks! Should distract them! Grab her!"

The hydralisk lashed out with its talons, sending a chitinous arm skittering across the floor. Majesty approached the hydralisk at a still leisurely pace, barrier held before her. The hydralisk fired spines into it, the serrated blades rebounding harmlessly off it and clattering against the floor. Garrus, madly dashing past Majesty, lashed out with his omnitool in a moment of mad inspiration and desperation. The barrier faltered, and Majesty's next statement was cut short in a flurry of metal slicing sounds and mad screeching.

Kerrigan lay on the floor, barely moved. _I think Majesty dropped her._ He scooped her up over his good shoulder and shuffled back with all speed, grunting when a round punched through his barriers and grazed his leg.

"Go, Vakarian! With me!" Kirrahe and his two partners covered his retreat, falling back only when he was past them. Kirrahe motioned frantically for Garrus to follow. All the while, the vents rattled, screeches tore the air, and gunfire erupted all around.

"Turned this into a proper warzone," muttered Kirrahe. "Tolan? You there? Tolan? No good. Any sign of life from Kerrigan?"

"No," grunted Garrus. He began to wobble, his steps growing unsteady. _She burned me. Pain flaring all over. Not just the arm._

Kirrahe and the salarians guided Garrus as best they could, shooting things that noticed them, pushing him onward, bearing some of Kerrigan's weight, shouting encouragement. Garrus, for his part, gritted his teeth and tried to blot out the sensation of heat on his skin, of the metal closing in, of the insectoid body parts flying every which way as zerg and insect bastard collided in a spectacular battle royale.

"Zerglings use vents, good to know!" called back Kirrahe as six zerglings piled out of a vent one by one before bounding towards the chirping alien invaders, flecks of carapace flying from their bodies.

"Elevator here!" One of the salarians hit the button. Garrus staggered on, tempted every moment to ask for the burden to be passed on. "Kirrahe, Kelphic Protocol?"

"Kelphic Protocol," confirmed Kirrahe. Garrus almost fell in the elevator after them, nearly dropping Kerrigan. His breath now rattled in his throat, and he did not resist when Kirrahe pried the ghost from his arms.

"We're blowing the bomb," said Kirrahe gently. "Takes care of the zerg, these things, hurts their ship … makes it easier for the Dominion and protoss to mop up." The salarian sniffed. "Whenever they decide to show up. I don't think Kerrigan will be waking anytime soon, if ever."

"Going with the safe bet?" Garrus propped himself up against the wall, his arms and chest burning underneath the metal. "If that's what it takes … sorry about this. Maybe it would have gone better if the Spectres hadn't decided to show up."

Kirrahe shrugged. "Not sure what you two thought you were doing – but even through our mistakes, I think the Council will learn something. Now it's just a matter of making sure our, hah, "evidence," is a little more easily pacified. Let's hope they have not messed with the bomb…"

The elevator opened. Garrus exited alongside the other two salarians, guns scanning. Kirrahe struggled along behind them. _I wonder why he still bothers. If this place is going to blow, shouldn't we just leave her?_ But that felt wrong, somehow. _Something familiar tugging at my mind…_

The bomb remained where they had left it, even if it was now coated in the splattered gore of a nearby dismembered hydralisk. The snarls and rattling bangs had not faded – specimens and invaders alike still vied for their worthless supremacy of what was supposed to be an empty vessel. _This is where you should be. Whole thing's about to end, and you're fighting for meaningless territory._

"And here it ends, I suppose." Kirrahe deposited Kerrigan almost reverently by the side of the bomb while another salarian opened the interface.

"Bypassing safeties!" he called out. "Should take only a few-"

The salarian gurgled before falling forward. When he crumpled to the floor, he left a streak of dark red against the screen. Garrus turned with all the energy he could still muster, raising his gun and firing at the oncoming horde of crazed specimens. _Just made it worse. Typical salarians._

"Behind you!" called out Kirrahe, making Garrus wheel again, unloading a sharp burst followed by an incineration blast from the omnitool. The hydralisk fell back as its body charred, the scythes cleaving the air frantically. _Yeah, I know how you feel._

An explosion rocked one of the corridors. Kirrahe now brandished a grenade launcher, firing it twice more as the mass of bastard zerg clawed their way in from every direction.

For a frantic minute, two salarians and a badly burned turian held their own against the horde, their backs pressed against a nuclear bomb. Spines broke barrier, and Garrus felt pressure against his side, following by horrible numbing. Still he fired, even as the blue flowed freely from the opened wound, even as his fingers grew clumsy and fat as the toxins took hold.

Kirrahe screamed at him to hold the line, but everything _burned._ He fell to a knee, and a hydralisk broke the perimeter, a scythe raised above Garrus's head.

Time slowed. The blade came down by inches, poised for a sweep that would part sinew and bone, leave Garrus's bowed head rolling. Kirrahe was wheeling, the grenade launcher falling from his arms, a pistol produced from a hidden holster. Garrus's eyes shut … and then opened.

The scythe remained in the air. The hydralisk did not. The blade floated there, motionless, while the hydralisk spurted blood and shrieked from its new position, crumpled against a wall.

"Sorry about the wait." Kerrigan stepped forward, the air rippling about her as if she too, burned with a hidden fire. The hydralisks had ceased their advance, recoiling from the new creature, shielding themselves with their limbs.

Kerrigan examined the floating scythe, shrugged, and let it drop. Raw energy crackled at her fingertips. She extended a steady finger at the bleeding zerg who had threatened to decapitate Garrus.

The creature screamed and contorted as the energy ripped through the carapace, and within seconds it fell as a smoking heap on the floor. Kerrigan looked back to Garrus, smiled even as he bled. Garrus felt a sudden pressure, followed by blinding pain. He fell to the floor, clutching his wound … now sealed. His hands felt numb, but the flow stopped.

"Up," she commanded, but it was not directed at Garrus. Garrus watched the zerg slither away from his new position on the floor. In their absence … she emerged.

" **Terran."** Majesty stepped forward, leaving ash in her wake. **"Psionic. Kerrigan. You are required."**

"Giving me an order?" Kerrigan blocked the corridor, her pose slightly hunched, a foot forward. _Defiance. Body language means … defiance._ "No one can do that anymore. I'm free … of all constraint. And you're in my way."

Majesty turned, looking back in the direction of the hull breach … at her ship.

"Yeah, that's the Dominion and protoss," said Kerrigan, her fingers twitching, light playing between them.

" **You must first be observed."**

Majesty snapped her wrist, sending a gout of flame. Kerrigan swatted it aside, only to grunt as two more followed it, only clumsily blocked. Majesty sent wave after wave of flames while she advanced, bellowing mindless, strangely clinical threats while Kirrahe crouched over Garrus, administering, a syringe in one hand. _Antivenom. Or is it anti-toxins?_

Kerrigan took a step back while Garrus watched in muted interest. The flames became a veritable wall of heat, and Kerrigan's own lightning only twisted and fed the growing inferno, while Majesty advanced unimpeded.

Kerrigan stopped, as if reevaluating her strategy. The flames died, and Majesty lunged from them, clawed hands outstretched…

Kerrigan neatly dodged to the side, a flash of metal suddenly in her hand. Majesty staggered, a knife now embedded in her skull … followed by a flurry of additional knives, thrown without hands.

Majesty faced Kerrigan, hilts sticking out of her face, her arms, her chest. She gazed at Kerrigan, and spoke, no ire in her voice.

" **You only damage the vessel, yet we must depart. We must thank you for the data. The validation. Take this boon. Resist as you must; the experiments will continue."**

Majesty lifted her arms, and the cracks opened, letting the embers through. The "vessel" faded … and Kerrigan grimaced.

"Jesus…" she muttered, grabbing her head. "Fuck … okay. Okay." She remained steady, eyes shut, movement visible beneath the lid. Kirrahe, Garrus, and one very lucky surviving salarian watched in muted fascination as Kerrigan just stood there, muttering. _No … idea what just happened._

 _Nothing to worry about, Garrus._ Garrus actually felt a bit of shock at that, even as darkness nibbled his consciousness. _Surprised? There are no strings on me anymore … and I have you to thank. Don't worry, Garrus … I'll take care of you._

"So … reassuring…" he croaked. Kirrahe had risen, speaking in rapid-fire fashion to someone. Garrus caught the word, "Fenix."

 _And don't worry about me. I was given a glimpse of what is coming. It's … horrific … but I am coping. Do you know, these things are more scared of the turians than the protoss?_

"That's … stupid." Kirrahe shot Garrus a worried glance at this, but spared no time. The vessel shook. _Rescue's coming._

"Huh." Kerrigan opened her eyes, slumping in place. "Well … that's one way to get intel. For the enemy to just _gift_ it to you. I would call it stupid … but that doesn't seem right. The thoughts were all jumbled … but I could feel twisted mercy. Compassion. It was horrible."

She crouched over Garrus, hands glowing. What pain there was, faded.

"Was it … worth it?" he asked, his mind going back to the needles, to the white screens that made her scream so loudly.

"Let me put it this way … when we fix you and go to Illium, Orlan won't have very long to hide. It's like all the walls have fallen away. I have new limits to test. And there's hell to pay."

Garrus stared at her, half his face numb. The dark closed in.

"Don't…" he began, but his mouth failed. He opened and shut it twice more before shutting his eyes. The flames no longer licked his sides and face. Now, a cold wind blew.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tychus**

 **A/N: Delay due to workload and extensive length.**


	20. Rank Villainy

**Tychus**

"Finally, my kind of people." This Earth pilot, Joker, grinned at Tychus from the side while taking the pull from the beer bottle, throat muscles working just fine despite being, as he put it, "crippled." He slammed the bottle against the table, leaving the liquid inside to slosh about wildly, the grin still alive on his face. "Heh. Not bad. What'd you say your name was?"

"Tychus Findlay," said Tychus, watching the little man carefully before checking about the bar. Of all the Earthers they'd taken on, he alone had departed their little self-enforced bubble. This was the first time he had caught them outside their ship or the mess hall. Even the ostensibly terran Duran remained with the main UED ground team, out of sight most of the time, sitting at the end of a table with a small yet disconcerting smile playing on his lips as of right now. "New here, same as you. Enjoying your time out here so far?"

"It's not so bad." Joker shrugged before lunging sideways, having accidentally nudged his set of crutches with his elbow. He righted them while avoiding eye contact. "I mean – haven't really seen the sights, but out here, I get to be in my element. Pilot seat, 24/7, y'know? Sucks to be … I dunno, out and about when people can't see what you can really do. Don't have to worry about that here."

"I feel ya, buddy," said Tychus, clapping a hand between the much smaller man's shoulders, forcing him forward. "This whole galaxy's just been one confusing mess after another. Feelin' lost in the shuffle … I know exactly how that feels."

A lumbering form appeared from a doorway across the hall. Tychus watched the elcor approach with anticipation, relishing how Joker's eyes went wide as Xeltan grew closer.

"Curiously: finally we pry a member of the UED from their nest." Xeltan stopped before Joker, eyeing him up and down while Joker laughed in apparent astonishment. "Courteously: I am Xeltan, sole elcor in Raynor's Raiders. With bravado: when the Raiders need large numbers of people to die, I am their man."

"Heh, an alien." Joker felt for his crutches, waving Tychus off when he tried to help. He rose unsteadily and crutched to Xeltan, stretching out a hand.

"Extremely irritated: I am not an animal." This made Joker stop, pull the hand back, and suddenly become very interested in the floor. "Enraged question: terran, were I to touch you without your permission, what would your reaction be? Fuming supposition: you would likely be shocked, and would probably possess several broken bones."

"Sorry," muttered Joker, prompting Xeltan to expel a sharp breath before turning to Tychus.

"Still-angered query: is there any particular reason we must remain over Moria for such a period of time? Worried: I would have thought the specialist would have showed up by now."

"Jimmy's got it handled," muttered Tychus. "He ain't gonna blow this opportunity … and hell, even if this specialist did get cold feet or whatever, don't we got free rein to just storm Hock's place and take what we want?"

This last question Tychus directed to Joker, who looked up, red in the face.

"Uh, yeah, Stukov gave the okay." He shifted in place, his crutches clacking against the floor. "Uh, Xeltan, right? Sorry about that, okay."

"With strained grace: apology accepted." Xeltan joined them at the table while Joker returned to his seat, still blushing with embarrassment.

"So, uh, why'd you boys come out here, anyway?" The alien politics and Jim's crusade might have made Tychus's head spin, but Earth had always and would always be a lingering fascination for him. _Still a little pissed I didn't get to be part of the boarding party._ "You ask me, this ain't the right time or place to start pissing everyone off."

Joker shrugged. "Seem to be doing okay so far." He pointed at the television screen. Below the pretty newscaster's face rolled an endless series of the Dominion's gains and losses against their foes. _And it looks like for every world they snatch from the KMs, they're losin' three to the UED._

"We came out here to kick ass, okay?" continued Joker, smugly, spreading his arms wide. "At least, that's why I'm out here." Joker looked up, taking in his surroundings. "Heh, damn. Didn't think your organization would have so many aliens. I mean – nothing wrong with that! Just … cool."

"Thought ya'll were supposed to be a bunch of racists and purity freaks?" Tychus cocked his head to the side, let his bones crack. "Yet here we've got a bona fide paraplegic goin' all googly eyed at Xeltan."

"I'm not a representative sample." Joker snapped a salute at someone behind Tychus. "Ma'am."

"Lieutenant." The response was quiet yet obviously feminine. She sat a ways from Tychus, brown hair in a ponytail, dressed in the same mix of whites and browns as Joker. The glance she gave Tychus was full of anxiety, but only fleeting. She too, seemed preoccupied by the elcor, although she returned to her senses long enough to stand again suddenly and offer an introduction. "Commander Shepard. With the UED."

"Knew that second bit already." Tychus leered up at her, taking stock. _In shape at least. Little broader than most women around the shoulder and waist, but that ain't a bad thing. Lotta marines like that. Short, though. All these UED types are short…_

The Commander had already sat down again. "Been chatting up the locals, Joker?"

"Why not?" Joker leaned back in his chair, beer in hand. "They don't look at me like I'm a freak of nature every time they see me. Besides, I came out here to see the sights! You know, when I'm not blowing them up."

Shepard nodded slowly. She looked at Tychus, biting her lip. "Uh…"

"Tychus Findlay, but you can call me daddy." Tychus grinned down at her, noting the way she scooted a bit further back. "Ah, come on now. If that sorta talk scares you, ain't no way you folks are gonna make it out here. Believe me – I'm a cuddly fellow compared to the folks walkin' round Moria."

"That is a bald faced lie, Mr. Findlay." They all turned as the resident weirdo approached. Duran seated himself between Shepard and Tychus, smiling all the while. "Believe him not, my good commander. Mr. Findlay is a beast of a man, straining against the shackles of his withered biology, eager to return to the killing fields and realize his potential once more. You would be wise to fear him." Duran cast Tychus an aside glance, offering a wink. Tychus stared back with narrowed eyes.

"I have it on good hand that the specialist is already aboard this ship, lady and gentlemen," continued Duran, still smiling warmly despite the cold stares from Shepard and Tychus. "Very shortly, we will know who is to attend the event and make the acquisition … and who is to play a more, ah, "supportive" role." He glanced at Joker briefly before turning to the elcor. "It is a pleasure to see you again by the way, Xeltan. I am told you had a major role to play regarding a certain … prank … involving an adjutant."

"Without shame: there are few elcor honies around these days," replied Xeltan. "Proudly: my frustration became a valuable asset in reprimanding the overzealous UED." _Elcor … honies?_

"What'd we do now?" asked Shepard wearily.

"Tried to hack into our adjutant with your fancy AI." Tychus smirked. "That Harper fella saw it comin', though. That one bitch lady – Lawson – said we had to take some precautions. Said Harper was certain the UED would have our number in the cyber department. So me and Xeltan here, we uh, booted up a few hundred gigs of elcor … reading material." Tychus winked as obnoxiously as he could, to make it obvious what he meant. To his surprise, both UED soldiers burst out laughing.

"And … Vice Admiral Stukov got to see that?" asked Shepard, wiping her nose and trying to stifle a few more errant giggles. "Hah. Only way it could have been better is if it was DuGalle."

"Ugh. Agreed. Fuck DuGalle." Joker shrugged again when Shepard reacted with apparent shock. "What? How would you react if the first thing the man said to you was, "You are a credit to cripples everywhere." I mean, seriously?"

"The Admiral, believe it or not, is well-intentioned, my friends." Duran chuckled as Joker sputtered in disbelief. "What? I can glean enough of his thoughts. He pines for home, and worries for his men. Both of you included. I do not believe his bigotry stems from anything more than his background." Duran threw up his hands. "But of course, this is mere supposition. I cannot see past the iron cage he puts around himself. Now, the good Vice Admiral? He is one to worry about."

"Ya'll are speakin' pretty plainly about your superiors. Not that I care." Tychus took another pull from his bottle. "So … ya'll are here to stay in this sector, then?"

"Maybe." Shepard bit her lip and looked back to the table with the other UED officers. "We need to see how things will play out. Korhal's a ways off … especially if the birds decide to intervene." She cast another look back, this time to the television. The words **Hierarchy Fifth Fleet led by General Janus to enter Koprulu Sector** scrolled past. "Hope Stukov's got that handled."

"So … Earth." Tychus leaned forward in his seat. The two Earthers looked back. "Is it … I don't know. What's it like?"

"Blue skies, green seas, and good people," said a deep voice from behind them. The shaven headed ground team leader whose name Tychus could not remember, approached the table alongside a few other men and women in white outfits. He stared down at Tychus with a mixture of faint disgust and blatant curiosity.

"Tychus Findlay," said Tychus, standing and offering a hand. The UED boss man hesitated before gripping it, and Tychus made sure to squeeze hard, making the man wince as his bones cracked.

"Strong grip," he said, shaking the hand twice after parting from Tychus. "I am Captain Anderson. I hope my people and I have proven good guests so far."

"Ain't my boat," replied Tychus, shrugging as he sat. He pointed to the corner. "You want Captain Fancypants for thankin' purposes. I'm just here to drink beer and kill things." _Well … hopefully. Killing has been light on my part so far._

"Hm." Anderson looked to the corner, apparently pondering following Tychus's instructions. "Lieutenant Duran, are you behaving yourself?"

"Your question wounds me, Captain." The smile widened on Duran's face. "I treat everyone I meet with such impeccable courtesy, and I have every cause to redouble my efforts at etiquette when among the Raiders. They are formidable allies."

"Suspiciously: we are agreed on this matter at least." Xeltan sounded quite grudging about this. "Even more suspiciously: regarding the krogan, however, I still dissent. Him and his will bring nothing but ruin."

"You wanna say that to his face, Xeltan?" Tychus laughed as Xeltan hesitated, and then belched. "Pardon me. Anyway, on a ship fulla badasses, he's the one I think would be left standing if there were a big ol' battle royale. Not even ol' Tychus here's gonna deny that."

"With anxiety: then imagine more of him running around." Xeltan made an anxious noise that almost seemed to resemble a donkey bray. "Fervently: UED humans – please reconsider your course of action regarding the krogan."

"That's not for us to decide," said the Captain, face pinching as he spoke to the alien. "Sorry. Now excuse me. Shepard. Joker. …Duran." The three rose at Anderson's words and left the table quietly. Only Shepard cast a backward glance – not at Tychus, but at Xeltan.

"They don't like having their people runnin' free." Tychus folded his arms. "Hmm. Let's see if I can't get that Joker boy talkin'."

Before Xeltan could respond, the television died and loud crackling filled the bar, making everyone look up from their drinks.

"Ground teams, report to the hangar bay. Ground teams, hangar bay, Quickly please." _Jim's voice. It's about time._

"Mixed excitement and anxiety: time to go mobile." Xeltan and Tychus left the bar together, walking side by side through the halls. The UED people apparently took a separate route.

"Curiously: how did you come to know Jim Raynor?" asked Xeltan as he plodded along. "Hesitantly: his fixation on freeing you at times bordered … obsession."

"Saved his ass from prison," said Tychus off-handedly. "Pair of us were a right bunch of hellions once. Deserted the army. Robbed trains … banks. Got in fights. But the law caught up, eventually." Tychus closed his eyes, remembering. "Until then, ol' Tychus always thoughta himself as some irredeemable badass; committed to a bad way and destined for a bad end. Well – Jimmy still had some hope in him. Still had a shot at bein' something other than a miscreant. So … I took the fall." From the way Xeltan had gone silent, Tychus guessed the elcor thought that him revealing this was somehow of import. _And it ain't. It's ancient history and the Confederacy is dead._

The elcor still thanked Tychus for this knowledge with, as he put it, "great courtesy and gratitude." _Whatever._

The hangar was mostly taken up by the UED's sleek looking frigate, but a crowd of people still found room to gather round its front. It didn't take much for Tychus to sort out the ratio of Raiders to UED goons … the Raiders all dressed in mixtures of grubby gear, while the UED all practically shone in their immaculate white and brown uniforms.

The aliens stood out too, mostly because everywhere they stood, the UED gave them a wide berth. Declan grinned at the two of them as they approached, revealing his hideous set of serrated teeth. Trome stood by his side, leaning against the ship, eyes fixed on the milling Earthers. He gave the two of them a nod as they approached.

"Alright boys and girls, listen up!" called out Jim, striding through the crowd and stopping before the frigate. "We've brought in our specialist and she's been, ah, "inspecting" the lot of you. She's the one Harper sent in to get us to Hock, and she's gonna lay down just what needs doin'. So listen up – because this is not gonna be easy."

The air to Jim's right shimmered, revealing a tiny figure all in black, face obscured by a hood. She waved at everyone, giggling at a few exclamations from the people closest, who stepped back.

"Kasumi Goto," she said, pressing her palms together and bowing. "I've been keeping a close eye on all of you, looking for the people with the right expertise. Specifically – lying." She watched everyone. "Some of you – Hock knows your face, so it's a no go. Others – too honest. Won't be able to blend in. And of course, if push comes to shove, I need you to fight back." The tiny woman stepped forward – towards Tychus, making him step back.

"You lie as easily as you breathe, Mr. Findlay," said the woman brightly, her eyes shining from beneath the cowl. "And I doubt anyone will know the face of someone so long … absent, from this world. You're in."

Tychus opened his mouth and then shut it. _Well … about time I get some damn action. What sort of op this gonna be?_ His unspoken question had to remain unspoken for the time being, however. Kasumi continued on.

"Trome and Declan – he knows your faces, sadly. Ms. Lawson … haha, no. We can't have any links to the Illusive Man or Raiders. Xeltan – er, we may have to make a quick getaway, sorry." _How the hell she know all our names?_ The devil woman spun on the spot and smiled brightly at some of the soldiers in white.

"Shepard, you'll do. Nice and quiet, keeping it subtle. Jenkins – yes, Jenkins! I want you. And, ah …" She looked through the crowd once more. "Duran … you are easily the finest liar here, but your face is known to Hock. So, I think it will just be the four of us. Although, if things go wrong, we will have need for some heavy hitters. Er – Xeltan and … Jack, right? You two will do. I'll call you later. Wrex? …probably best not. Hock's not going to be forgetting you any time soon. That's about it. Everyone else can go back to drinking, reading, and…" Kasumi stared at Trome. "…staring up at the ceiling. And people think _I'm_ weird."

Slightly shell-shocked by this strange turn of events, the rest of the ground teams staggered off in various directions. Captain Anderson stepped forward with an angry expression on his face, only to be waved off by Jimmy. Jack meanwhile, approached Tychus with something that looked halfway between anger and concer.

"Don't fuck up," she whispered to him. "And kill as many of those assholes as you can get away with." Tychus laughed while Jim raised his voice.

"You can stay if you want, man," said Jim, "but this is for Kasumi to organize, alright? She's the expert here."

"If she stepped aboard the _Normandy_ , I will kill her," said Anderson stonily, although from the way he shoved his hands in his pockets, Tychus guessed he really didn't relish the idea. _Great, a man of honor. Will shoot you without hesitation for wrongdoing, but'll feel terrible 'bout it later. Don't make the world any better for his regret._ Tychus turned to look for Jack, only to see her disappearing from sight. _Aw. Doubt they would have faulted you for sticking around._

"Captain Anderson, rest assured I respected everyone's privacy to the greatest necessary degree during my inspection," said Kasumi, bowing again before him. "I have not seen the inside of your magnificent ship. Duran can confirm it."

"I would know!" called back Duran from the nearest exit. "She has not set foot aboard your ship, Captain. But for this op, I sense she soon will."

Kasumi smiled. "A strange one, isn't he? Ms. Lawson – why don't you introduce Donovan Hock to our assembled team?"

Lawson, a frown on her face, stepped from Jimmy's side and tapped her omnitool. Tychus could not help but notice that her hand glanced Jimmy's as she went by, making his knuckles curl slightly. _Hm._

"Donovan Hock, current head of the Hock family, the third most powerful man in KMC space," said Miranda as the head and face of a man with graying hair and a sour expression shone before them. "Responsible for coordinating the first line of defense against the Dominion. An egotistical madman and a proven sadist … but also one of the finer strategic minds the KMs currently have to offer. Aside from an irritating penchant for war crimes, Hock has proven himself an able commander. That is why I must stress that he remain alive, Harper's orders. If he dies, the KM line will collapse within weeks instead of months or years." Lawson eyes rolled slightly as she said this, and she pursed her lips.

"Hock possesses vital intel that could potentially incriminate Mengsk. He has refused to turn it over to Cerberus, citing personal distrust of the organization. The intel is located inside an old Confederate adjutant, locked deep inside his mansion. Hock has proven himself a deeply vengeful and paranoid individual, so any attempts to retrieve this data must be made with extreme caution and leave absolutely no concrete evidence of Cerberus or Raider involvement. Kasumi?"

"His mansion is normally off-limits," said Kasumi, tapping her own omnitool and revealing a glowing layout that in no way improved Tychus's understanding of the situation, "but recent events have changed that. He is throwing a fundraiser for the KM cause, inviting the likes of Aria T'Loak, Mira Han, Vido Santiago … the list goes on. Thanks to Mr. Harper, we have developed a few aliases of our own and secured invites meant for him." She flashed a smile at the three people in her team, who looked to one another in confusion … well, except for Jenkins. _That boy looks thrilled to be in on this._

"Getting inside is the hard part, and that is covered," continued Kasumi. "Once inside, I need a team to mingle … and carefully explore. This door here…" Kasumi's layout zoomed in to a single door, "…leads to the vault, but there is bound to be security in place. Once we crack that, we simply head downstairs, pop out the hard drive, head back upstairs … and leave. Quickly." Kasumi smiled at them all again. "Of course, if things do go wrong, he is still permitting his guests omni tools and side arms. Might not be much against his power armored goons, but I'm thinking we would be able to improvise well enough. Questions?"

"How'd you get the layout?" asked Lawson abruptly, making Kasumi start slightly and turn. "Just out of curiosity. I've been to Hock's place before; he maintains a tight perimeter."

"This has been in the making for a while," said Kasumi quickly, looking at her feet. "Ah … I worked with a partner, before. Hock got him, but not before we both got a good long look. There are a few other things I plan to grab while I'm down there. The payment … wasn't the reason I took this job."

"Keep it simple, Goto," said Lawson shortly. "If you jeopardize this mission-"

"Oh no," said Kasumi brightly, waving her hands before her and backing up. She pointed at her team. "That's _their_ job." She spun in place and slapped the side of the ship. "We'll need this – it's unaffiliated and it can turn invisible. Perfect getaway vehicle. Is the pilot any good?"

"Mr. Moreau has demonstrated an exemplary performance so far, even with his lax approach to protocol and personal hygiene," replied a cool female voice, seemingly from the ship. _Why let a ship talk? Just gonna complain about micrometeorites scratching up the paint every three seconds._

"Advanced ship AI?" asked Kasumi quickly, prompting a series of nods from the UED people. "Oh, okay! Why not? Does it do anything besides critique the pilot?"

"I am currently assisting the entirety of the UED Armada with logistical problems ranging from minor to life-threatening," replied the AI. "I am also capable of overriding practically all known colonial firewalls. I may be of use to you."

"This op's lookin' more and more fun by the minute," muttered Jim, catching Tychus's eye and winking.

"Okay…" Kasumi turned, taking a good long look at the ship and the people assembled before her. "Well … we are on a schedule. Let's get you some fresh identities."

By the time they boarded the shuttle aboard the _Normandy_ hours later, they bore new names. Tychus accepted Kasumi's suggestion of Brock Staver, and Shepard followed suit with Alison Gunn. Jenkins meanwhile, had proposed the name James Bond, which was duly accepted to Shepard's inexplicable incredulity. _What? That's a regular name. Pretty sure I robbed a guy named that once._ He slotted his revolver into its holster, then tapped the handle, reassured by its solidity. _Actually hopin' I don't need to use it…_

"And I will be cloaked!" said Kasumi while the shuttle pilot clambered in the front. She alone remained in her catsuit, while the rest of them stuck to their tuxes and dress. Jenkins had gone from a callow looking youth to a suave gentleman with slicked back hair, while Shepard … _heh._ _Little lady has a back tattoo. Looks like a rose. Least mine are all covered up in this formalwear. Well … barring these._ He examined his knuckles, remembering how badly the needle had stung when it went in.

"I'll be inside with you, but out of sight," continued Kasumi, making Tychus reorient himself. "Looking very nice, all of you. Nothing should go wrong."

"Hate it when people say that," said the pilot from the front, flipping a variety of switches. "All right. Mr. Moreau? Joker? You ready?"

"Taking her down now, Lieutenant!" came the quick reply. " _Norad II_ is heading to the other side of the planet. I'll be holding here … let me know if anything goes wrong."

"What's the most likely thing goin' wrong here, l'il miss?" asked Tychus. Kasumi looked at him, calculating.

"Well – it really depends on what it takes to get that door open," she said carefully. "I would say – getting caught where you're not supposed to. That's a death sentence. Please bear in mind that Hock owns six out of ten security agencies on the planet. If we do get caught … well … the reinforcements won't stop."

"Cheery thought," said Shepard. She shifted uncomfortably as everyone looked at her. "Let's please keep this quiet."

"I will monitor security systems and if necessary bypass their adjutant, Commander Shepard," said the voice of the AI, omnipresent and irritatingly helpful. "Hock will find his own defenses inoperable for a duration of at least thirty minutes." Despite the reassurance, Shepard only bit her lip and looked away.

"Thanks. Jenkins – you really sure you want to do this?"

"Sounds fun as hell, ma'am," said Jenkins, straightening his tie and patting the strange mass of wires and metal that apparently comprised his sidearm. "Introduce a little class into the lives of these barbarians. It's easier if I have a character to step into anyway."

Tychus was not certain what the hell they were talking about, and judging from the way Kasumi was staring, neither did she.

"Thirty seconds!" called back the pilot. "Hang on, _Norad II_ wants a word."

"Hey everyone," said Jim, voice nibbled by static. "Just … wishin' you luck. Tychus, try not to get yourself killed, I only just got you back. And uh, don't kill Hock. Knowing him, he'll give you some provocation, one way or another, but it's a loss we can't afford. Oh – and same goes for Mira Han, if you see her." Muffled shouting echoed from the loudspeaker while Jim laughed. "Just tryin' to keep your wife safe, Matt. What? Damn, man, marriage has changed you for the _worse._ "

The loudspeaker went dead while the engines went live. Tychus sat back against the side of the shuttle, trying to keep his eyes off Shepard and her little black dress. _I wonder – any other tattoos? Maybe on the thigh? I mean – you obviously got nothin' on Jack, but –_

The shuttle bumped once. Tychus sighed, stretched his shoulders back. _All I got is the side arm and the omni tool. Good thing I been practicin' with it. Little man's gettin' proud of me._

"I'm going out of sight once this ship hits the ground," said Kasumi, now sounding nervous for the first time. "My advice is to gently, ah, "mingle" your way towards the back. I'll head for the vault entrance first and let you know what we need. Oh – and you'll probably do this anyway, but my advice is to avoid Aria. She's … sharp. Okay?"

"Which one's that?" asked Jenkins, prompting a sharp snort from Shepard.

"Asari – blue woman with the ability to rip people in half with biotics," said Kasumi. _Great. Because we needed more people like that walking around._ "Aside from that … be careful around Hock. Hard to tell what will set him off sometimes."

The shuttle's engines became drowned out by the shriek of burning atmo. _Been a long time since I seen Moria. I'm guessin' it's still just as much of a shithole as when I left it._

"A proper colony world," said Shepard to herself, smiling. Tychus watched her glue her eyes to the ramp, apparently waiting for the moment it would slide open and let in the revolting Morian air. _Yeah. Drink it in, little lady. This place is the asshole of terran space._

"Got clearance," reported the pilot shortly. "Landing. Hock himself is coming out to meet you. Ready?"

"Oh yeah," said Tychus, rolling his neck and brushing lint off his shoulders. "Brock Staver's 'bout to become the life of the party."

The shuttle landed with a dull thump, and Shepard started for the ramp even before it opened. Kasumi vanished in a shimmer while Tychus and Jenkins fell in behind.

"Brock Staver," he grunted to himself. _Successful mercenary for hire. Mar Sara born. ITSA affiliated, left to work in the Terminus Systems. Heartbreaker and life taker. So … basically me if I hadn't been frozen all these years._ For a moment, Tychus felt a twinge of unmistakable bitterness. _This … ain't no time for regret. Bein' frozen meant keepin' out of the Great War. It was lucky, in some ways._ Yet, the way his arm muscles didn't quite fill the tux out in the manner it would've used to undercut that argument. _Hey, Jimmy got old. I didn't. He made enemies. I … I got to start over._

The ramp opened with a hiss, and light crept in from the cracks. Blinking, the three of them (plus the hidden devil lady, Tychus supposed) emerged into the putrid high noon of Moria. The air tasted sickly sweet, a mix of chemical fumes that created a nauseating cocktail of aromas. The air and horizon itself, meanwhile, resembled a rotten orange, faintly brown in a manner that implied rot and decay. The buildings on the horizon stretched into the sky and seemed to point to the heavens accusingly, their dark outlines standing stark against the orange murk. Tychus paid little attention to this however, instead watching Shepard's nose wrinkling with great amusement. Jenkins at least seemed undeterred.

"Shall we procheed?" he asked, extending a hand to Shepard. She took it without thinking, and then retracted it immediately. _Right. Stepping into our roles, no sweat. Heh, Shepard's already forgetting who should be in charge of who…_

They left their shuttle behind, making for the enormous gleaming white house before them. Armed guards of various races watched their approach with apparent disinterest, turning away once it became clear that they were well-dressed and in no apparent rush. _That's a sign of bein' rich, isn't it?_ From the top of the marble steps descended the man himself – the egotistical sadist host from whom they would shortly be stealing.

"Ah! I have been most looking forward to your arrivals!" proclaimed Hock as he descended the steps. He stopped before the three of them, looking to each of them with a faint smile on his face. "Gavin Archer has assured me of your prowess and standing, and earning a compliment from that man is worse than pulling teeth. Am I right? Ha!" He motioned for them to follow.

"Strange though, inviting people I've only just learned the names of. Just had you on the list of: "Archer Asset." What precisely was that about? Have you truly made so many enemies?"

"Raynor's Raiders are a bunch of shitbags," said Tychus, prompting Hock to turn, still smiling. "Man's gotta make a livin' one way or another. Ain't their place to judge."

"That's what you were worried about?" Hock laughed. "Ah. I shouldn't laugh. Jim Raynor can be rather tiresome when provoked. And a mutual friend of ours..." Hock's face darkened momentarily. "Hmm. Much more so. And if you have managed to piss _him_ off … then you are most certainly friends of mine. At any rate – formal introductions then, since you are now beyond Raynor's stubby fingers?"

"Brock Staver," said Tychus, extending a hand. Hock grinned and shook it. "I kill people, then I walk away and smoke a cigar."

"Both are capital exercises!"

"Alison Gunn," said Shepard. Hock smiled warmly at her, and brought her outstretched hand to his lips, missing the spasm of disgust that shot through her features. "I'm more about retrieval of hard to find materials."

"I can see where Archer would find you handy. Always difficult to come across geth parts." Hock turned to Jenkins and raised his eyebrows.

"Bond," said Jenkins while Shepard's lip wobbled and she turned away. "Jamesh Bond."

"Mr. Bond – you make quite an introduction without saying anything at all!" Hock shook his hand with great enthusiasm. "Please – you've only worked with the Archers so far, which not a bad thing by any means, but take the time to get acquainted with some of the ladies and gentlemen inside. They can find you ever more … lucrative work." He winked at Tychus and Jenkins. "And of course – I am still hiring anyone and everyone with a thirst for Dominion blood. Bear it in mind. Now…"

They entered the house together, and the temperature immediately dropped to a pleasing cool. The air, previously slightly murky and sickly sweet, became a pleasing fragrance. The distant sounds of industry and cityscape gave way to the soft sounds of piano and the hushed murmur of voices. Hock issued them a fond farewell and a quick set of directions to the bathroom before departing, leaving the three of them standing before a vast assortment of terrans and aliens, all of whom looked to them with either disinterest or outright unfriendliness. Tychus looked to Shepard and gave a heavy sigh. _Here goes._

"Barkeep!" called out Jenkins, advancing towards a mixing station, "a martini cocktail! Shaken, not shtirred."

"I am going to kill him," mumbled Shepard, watching Jenkins's antics with narrowed eyes. "Then, I'm going to bring him back to life, just so Anderson can kill him as well."

"Fan out, you two!" said a voice in their ears, making them start slightly. "Don't worry, I'm almost at the door. Just try to fit in while I get a good look at what we are up against."

Tychus took a good long gander at who, precisely, he shared this rather expansive room with. The vast majority of people were terrans like himself, all in tuxes and dresses … and all carrying sidearms. Asari walked to and fro between the people, bearing platters of food and drinks. Tychus accepted a drink with a nod and a smile, only freezing when he recognized a familiar sequence of numbers tattooed on the wrist of one of the asari. _Damn. KMs took up enslaving aliens. Probably better not to pay any more attention to them … don't wanna stand out._

A small crowd gathered around one of the few pieces of furniture in the main hall, a large couch. From the brief glimpses Tychus could snatch of the person or people occupying it, he realized that she looked slightly familiar. _Ah, shit. Aria. Damn, she likes her reclining._

Tychus kept a wide berth, instead opting to press on towards where the crowds were thinnest – out the doors and on to the terrace. Shepard had vanished and Jenkins was no longer visible through a crowd of what appeared to be admirers.

"The firsht thing about putting down shlave revoltsh," said Jenkins as Tychus gingerly made his way past, trying not to spill his own drink, "ish to remind your merchenaries to shubdue wherever posshible. Don't damage the merchandishe."

"Is that man drunk already or just … is that just how he talks?" asked a man just outside the crowd, making Tychus flash him a smile. _Give him an hour or two and it will be both._

"I've got a look at the vault door," reported Kasumi as Tychus emerged on to the terrace, grimacing in the foul air. "Tripwires, voice locked, and print locked. Thorough, but unexciting. Need a password, DNA, and the power cut. Someone's going to need to talk to Hock."

"Gimme a minute," muttered Tychus, taking in the sights. Beyond the terrace lay a great lake, its waters shining even in the murk. _Barely even looks brown._ He rested his forearms gently against the lip of the edge, only to recoil as he felt something hard beneath them. Glancing downward, Tychus watched a snail emerge from its orange shell and begin dragging itself away from Tychus. _Heh. Looks like snails get free entry to the Hock manor._ Tychus couldn't help but watch the poor thing go. _A remnant of nature, even here. Heh._

"Brock! Target is approaching! Get him talking. Gunn … Gunn – how did you get in there?"

Tychus turned around just in time to catch his breath. Hock descended the steps down to his position, teeth almost glowing in the smog.

"I see you've found yourself a drink, Mr. Staver." A flicker of annoyance crossed Hock's face as he reached Tychus. With a few deft flicks of the wrist, he sent the snail hurtling into the depths below while Tychus tried to contain his annoyance. "Damn things. Always getting into my vegetable gardens. At any rate – forgive me, Mr. Staver, but I am curious. What, precisely, is your relationship with Raynor's Raiders? It is rare to meet a foe of theirs that is not also a foe of mine."

"Damn goody-two shoes sons of bitches always gettin' in my face," muttered Tychus, taking a quick peak over the edge of the terrace. _Only water. So long, little buddy._ "I mean – I got a good work ethic. And I gotta make a livin'. So what if that livin' means dealin' with a few … uh…" Tychus struggled to remember what the hell Declan's species were called. "…needlemouths."

"You'll make an enemy of the batarians too, with that kind of language." Hock cast a look behind him before shifting closer to Tychus. "Although frankly, I find their caste system to be truly barbaric. Joining up with us was the best thing to happen to these animals. And it's about to pay off in dividends." Hock stepped back. "Have you ever … exchanged fire, with those bastards in blue?"

"Leader's the one in black, right?" Hock nodded in response. "Hell, I held off six of 'em back on Omega with nothin' but an omnitool and foul language. Then I got myself outta there by hijackin' some dumbass's vehicle who stopped in to look." Tychus swirled the liquid in its glass. _Damn I'm good._ "Clean getaway. Had to ditch the cargo, though."

"Ah, if only I had men on my payroll a fraction as capable." Hock smiled, although Tychus could not help but notice how hard the man's eyes had become. _Like a hawk. Searching, searching, always searching for something out of place, movin' around where it's not supposed to._ "It's so rare, these days I find, to discover a person with a truly sufficient mix of dedication, perseverance, and loyalty. Half the people I hire are inadequate for the task at hand. Flattened by the Dominion almost immediately. And of the other half … well, I'm lucky if half of _them_ do not flinch at what they are asked to do. For all their barbarism, at least the batarians have followed my instructions." Hock looked over the terrace, across to the cityscape.

"Ah … but I fear my views have hardened, since the death of my sons."

"My condolences," muttered Tychus. Hock gave him a sad smile.

"Yes, a true tragedy, one I hope to inflict tenfold on Mengsk, when the time comes. And it will come. He killed two of my most promising children, and deprived our government of two fine military commanders. And, more importantly, of commanders who know their _duty._ " Hock spat over the edge. "Kelhams. Archers. Santiagos. What do they know of service to a higher cause? The Kelhams will jump ship to Omega the minute the tide turns. The Santiagos are new money, and they do not have what it takes to truly serve. And the Archers – forgive me for saying this – are too wrapped up in insane matters such as, God forbid, hacking the Geth Consensus or cracking open xel'naga temples. Useless." Hock stared back at his mansion, at the people around him. Tychus watched, not certain if his mood was going to swing back or not.

"Hmph. My apologies, Mr. Staver. Were it in my hands, I would be back on Proctor, executing every Dominion officer I could get my hands on. But this will have to do. We will not hold without the Terminus Systems. Now, if you will excuse me … the queen needs me." Hock swept past Tychus without looking back. Tychus checked one last time for the snail, shook his head, and waited for Kasumi's assessment.

"Okay," she said after a few seconds. Tychus held his breath. "Okay, Shepard's cut the power … and I got all of that recorded. Now we just need the password and DNA. Jenkins – Jenkins? Why are you on Aria's couch?"

"The fuck?" Tychus tried to resist the urge to run back into the main hall, instead settling for a speedy walk. Sure enough, just barely visible past the crowd of what Tychus could not help but think of as "supplicants" sat Jenkins, glass in hand, next to the queen of Omega. _And what they are talkin' about, I would dearly love to know._

"He's really stepped into his role," said a voice from behind him. Shepard stepped forward, hands gripping her upper arms. "Let's hope it doesn't backfire. Got the power."

"So I heard," said Tychus, scanning for any trace of blood on Shepard. "Have to kill anyone to do it?"

"No." Shepard let go of her arms. "Played drunk and got taken to the guard station. Wasn't hard, but we need to hurry up." She massaged her knuckles, which had turned a distinct mix of green and purple.

"Well, how the hell we gonna get our hands on the password? Or the DNA?" Tychus shook his head.

"Hock's rooms are to the left, but there are a ridiculous number of patrols all over," reported Kasumi. "Listen – I have an idea, since Jenkins seems so keen on, uh, acting. Jenkins? Why not propose a toast? Make sure Hock drinks."

"I would like to proposhe a toasht!" called out Jenkins as if on cue. He stood from the couch, and the crowd parted. "To the man who brought ush here, yesh, but it goesh beyond that." Jenkins turned to survey his admirers. "We were brought here, all of ush, with great purposhe. To opposhe the twin might of the Terran Dominion and their witlessh Counchil dogsh, to combine our forcesh and drive theshe foolsh to the endsh of the galaxy, out of the rightful domain of the _Argo's_ children. Sho my toasht goes beyond the simple matter of honoring our host, but alsho to honor all those, preshent or not, dedicated to the cause of freedom from tyranny. Long live Aria! Long live the Hegemony! Long live the KMC! And may Mengshk catch a venereal disease and rot from the inshide!"

That last bit caught Tychus off balance, but it drew hoots and applause from the bystanders, and even Aria could be seen clapping politely, a drink off to the side. Hock, meanwhile, approached Jenkins with a freshly depleted glass in hand, only to be approached by a security guard in a cap, who whispered in his ear. Hock visibly frowned and set his glass aside on the piano to his right. Tychus followed his instincts.

"Got the glass," muttered Tychus while Jenkins returned to Aria's side and Hock vanished behind a closed door with his staff. "Hang on. Bringing it to you."

"Password is still a problem," said Kasumi. "Not sure how to work around it. Shepard, did you see anything in the guard station?"

"It would be pretty sloppy of them to just leave a PDA lying around, Kasumi," replied Shepard, sounding slightly amused. "Sorry. I don't have anything. Unlike some people, who have all too much."

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," whispered back Jenkins, before loud laughter echoed through the mic. Tychus grimaced at the noise.

"Tychus – freeze. There's a lady staring at you. Table on the left. Been staring at you for at least two minutes."

Tychus froze, turning in place, scanning. She wasn't hard to find, mostly because her stare was rather … pointed. The old bag smiled at him and gestured for Tychus to approach. Glass still securely in hand, Tychus stepped forward hesitantly. At her corresponding hand gesture, he took a seat, placing the glass on the table … close to him. Now much closer to his fan, he realized she looked … familiar.

"I do believe we've met before, once or twice. Haven't we?" The lady sounded utterly self-assured, and the voice sent a chill down Tychus's spine. _Aww shit._ _Of all the stupid fucking nonsense I ever done, running with you still took first place, you crazed old bat._

Helena Blake smiled at him, seemingly both able to glean his mental anguish and deriving no small amount of pleasure from it.

"Perhaps I'm mistaken. No, I think I am. The man I am thinking of … well, he would never have made it to a place like this." Helena sipped from her own glass while Tychus willed it into becoming poison."Besides, he was frozen, I think. Frozen long ago, for all manner of vile behavior. But you look like him. Helena Blake. Charmed."

"Brock Staver, and I assure you, whoever that man was, he is well and truly dead," said Tychus slowly. "The specimen before you – twice the monster he ever was."

Blake chuckled. "Oh, I don't doubt it. After all it takes a certain tact and … cunning … to make it this far. And if ever there was a man who lacked for both cunning and tact it was Tychus Findlay."

Blake smiled widely. "So, Mr. Staver, trying to get downstairs? Oh, don't look so surprised. You're not the only one who came here to do business outside of this party." Blake nodded past Tychus, making him turn. A pair of salarians chatted at a lonely corner, each of them bearing stylized yellow and white armor.

"Eclipse representatives," said Blake coldly. "I plan to drown the pair of them in an upstairs toilet. Yes, the same toilet for both. Their organization needs to be taught to leave anything with my name on it alone."

"Awfully open of you to say that," replied Tychus after a few moments of hesitation. _Is it just me, or has KM space become even more fucking insane since my bein' frozen?_ His words did make Blake smile, however. "So, ah, Ms. Blake, knowin' you by reputation, you still in the pirate business?"

"Oh, that was a long time ago, Mr. Staver." Blake smiled pityingly at Tychus. "I gave up piracy for gun running, then drug running, then just a few protection rackets. Then, with my nest egg, I retired. But retirement grew boring." As if to underline this, Blake yawned. "So I turned to philanthropy. Much more exciting … and infuriating. There is nothing so … wasteful … as to have an emergency relief freighter destroyed by Eclipse to make a point. Now millions of people on Boone will starve. And where does that get us?"

"Ph- philanthropy?" That word sounded so foreign to Tychus's ears, particularly on a world where greed ruled so blatantly. Blake openly laughed this time, a light tinkling laughter that got on Tychus's last few nerves.

"Yes, Tychus," chortled Blake. "Philanthropy. What else is a billionaire to do with her time, when violence and power no longer have much use? It is far more entertaining to fight one's way through the galaxy's harsh perceptions than another band of Aria's pirates, and it is far more gratifying to strengthen one's nation in times of trouble rather than … exploiting its woes." She sent a hard look in the direction of the salarians. "Do not look so surprised Mr. … Staver. It is a common enough pursuit among Morians of sufficient means. I would also like to point out that with so few restrictions in place, I can also supply greater amounts of aid on my lonesome than any other nation's relief agencies." She leaned back in her chair. "Let it never be said that greed fully ruled the hearts of my people. Not that a distinguished gentleman such as yourself would ever make such a claim."

"The Morians are truly a strong and varied people," said Tychus, nodding so as to hopefully dispel the urge to burst out laughing. "Worthy of respect for their ambition."

Blake leaned forward, making Tychus silence himself immediately. She beckoned, and Tychus leaned forward as well, putting an ear to her mouth.

"You really should have stayed dead, Mr. Findlay," she whispered. "This galaxy is no longer meant for men like you. Nowadays, your kind always end up under people like Aria or Hock … dying by the dozen as Mengsk and the Council assert themselves." Tychus tried to jerk back, only to yelp as Blake fastened a claw to his scalp.

"You would do well to stick out of the coming battles, Mr. Findlay," muttered Blake. "Just professional advice … from someone who knows what you're really like. Now, we have business to attend to." She released her hold and sat back while Tychus massaged his scalp, the bristles on his head scraping against his damnably soft palms.

"Some contact information," said Blake brightly, shoving a small datapad in his direction. "And don't forget your glass. Have a productive rest of the party, Mr. Staver." Blake left, and Tychus hoped he was imagining the stench of sulfur in her wake. Gingerly, he picked up the datapad, which had a simple phrase upon it.

 **pw: Harper lies**

Tychus glanced up, eyes narrowed, but Helena Blake had already vanished from sight. He looked first to his left, and then rose. No one paid him much mind as he abandoned the bustle of the party for the out of the way door that housed the elevator.

"Did you hear all that?" asked Tychus as Kasumi materialized. He spared a brief glance at Shepard, who was busy pulling what looked like gun parts out of the more interesting (to Tychus at least) bits of her clothing, putting together something with a stock and a large barrel.

"Heard it, didn't believe it," said Kasumi. "Crazy old bitch. You have the glass? Should work, it's fresh. And … a datapad?"

"Says it has a password," said Tychus, handing it over. "Not sure how much we can trust that bloodthirsty old cow, though. It was under her order that ol' Tychus got his first kill." _What a day that was. Threw up for hours afterward like a goddamn pussy. Ah, well. I was only thirteen._

"It … seems like something Hock would use as a password," said Kasumi, clearly puzzled, maybe a little torn. "Huh. Not used to having _that_ happen. Do you think she was serious about the toilet thing?"

"If she was, I'm guessing we're supposed to be the distraction," said Shepard, snapping a sight on to the gun and then grunting in apparent satisfaction. She stood, rolling her neck. "Are we going to do this? Shouldn't we get Jenkins?"

"Alright Mr. Bond," said Kasumi, suppressing laughter when she saw the expression on Shepard's face, "time to finish up. We're all ready, here." Kasumi sighed and looked to her two partners in crime. "Once we're down there, the adjutant should be pretty readily visible. Just grab the hard drive and head back to the elevator. There's something I need to find, but don't wait up." She offered them a twisted smile from beneath her hood. "It's nothing important … really."

Tychus waited, leaning against the rightmost wall of the dimly lit room, his fingers tap-dancing against the grip of the revolver while they waited for "Mr. Bond." Only Shepard seemed at ease, having grunted in satisfaction and pointed her weapon at the floor, apparently unconcerned at any potential intrusion. He tensed as the door slid open.

"I am having the time of my life," declared Jenkins, strolling in, his walk slightly crooked. Tychus caught a glimpse of lipstick on his collar. _Goddamn._ "Sorry about the wait; had to tell them I needed the bathroom. They uh, can't get enough of me."

"Might be all of those extravagant lies you're telling them," said Kasumi brightly. "Unless you really are a soldier-for-hire whose wealthy grandmother just died, leaving him with millions?"

"Not a single word in that sentence is true," said Shepard, standing beside Jenkins and glowering at him. "Not even the articles. Did it occur to you how easy it would be to look any of that up?"

"Who does that, Commander?" asked Jenkins. "It's a party! Everyone's telling lies to make themselves look good. 'Specially for women; I saw a turian eat some levo-amino shit to try and impress Aria."

"Did it work?" Tychus could not help but feel curious. Jenkins only shook his head and then mimed projectile vomiting. "Whoops."

"These amusing anecdotes aside…" Kasumi swiped her hand through the air, indicating a need for silence. "Let's see if we lucked out…" She pressed a thin sheet of film against the print reader before tapping her omnitool.

"Harper lies." It was strange to hear that said aloud, and even despite the obviously loathsome nature of Hock, it made Tychus reflect on his own brief conversations with the man. _Was he lying about any of that shit? What would be the point? It's not like it was about anything I would care about. Well … barring maybe one thing._

"Tychus, maybe you should get a four leaf clover painted on your armor?" Kasumi gave a little giggle as the doors slid open. "Alright. In and out. Nice and easy."

The elevator felt cramped with the three of them inside, although Tychus most certainly did not object to being forced between a pair of delightful petite women. The presence of what Tychus was rapidly coming to believe was a grenade launcher cradled in Shepard's arms, however, dissuaded him from making any remarks.

After a brief journey, the elevator stopped. The doors opened and revealed … _well. I ain't never been one for much art, but this here is worth taking a look at._

"Huh," said Shepard, stepping forward into the enormous room, looking left and right. "Not bad. Especially for colonials."

"That's a piece of the _Argo_ ," said Jenkins excitedly, pointing to a blackened piece of metal sitting on a pedestal. "Shit – fossilized zerg! Plate says they're from Tuchanka and Thessia. Umojan artwork, alien statues…"

Jenkins jabbered on while Kasumi and Tychus exchanged exasperated glances and proceeded, on the hunt for their objectives. For Tychus, at least, it didn't take long.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmured, approaching the badly scorched adjutant with a small grin. What was left of the machine looked horribly mangled; half of the computer's face had been burned off, leaving only a drooping electronic eye held on by a pair of flimsy wires. The adjutant lacked arms as well, leaving only gaping holes, absent even of any wiring. And there, buried inside the scorch-marked chassis, was the hard drive.

"Finally," said Tychus, stepping forward and reaching out, fingers gripping part of the chest plate with relieving strength. He pried it off, reached inside. The hard drive came free with a satisfying click, and Tychus liberated it with a grunt of slight exertion. "Time to get off this shit stain of a planet. Kasumi – you find your thing?"

"It's – it's not here." Kasumi spun in place, looking to each little exhibit. "I was so sure it was – huh." She took a deep breath. "Nothing for it, I suppose. The payment wasn't what I came here for, but it'll take a bit of the sting off." _What the hell were you looking for, girlie? You sound like you're about to start crying._

They gathered together at the elevator, the two earthers glancing back constantly at Hock's collection. Kasumi, hand shaking slightly, hammered the button. The doors did not open.

"Is there a problem?" asked Jenkins after a few seconds. Tychus exchanged a quick look with Shepard who, to his surprise, activated what looked like a blue omnitool and passed it over her face.

"Gas!" she called out. "Silent alarm too, I think. We're busted, we're locked in, and he's gassing us!"

"What? I don't smell anything!" Jenkins still ripped his gun free from his holster and began to wheel about almost drunkenly.

"Yes, that's kind of a problem." Shepard continued tapping her omnitool. "Carbon monoxide. EDI – are you registering any kind of alert?"

"Security teams are converging on your position and Mr. Hock has vanished, Commander," reported EDI, her omnipresence and helpfulness suddenly very welcoming indeed. "One team will be at your position in less than two minutes. Did you bring any kind of gas mask?"

"It wasn't that kinda party," said Tychus, trying to keep his breaths shallow. He drew his own gun before realizing that it would not nearly be enough. He activated his own omnitool and ducked behind a statue of a particularly angry looking krogan. "Can you get that damn computer to run an override?"

"No – I can do a local bypass!" called out Kasumi, already hard at work at a nearby security panel. She plugged a small electronic device to the side. "Hold your breath if it makes you feel better! Should be about thirty seconds!"

"And the security teams?" Jenkins's earlier confidence had dissipated. His gun shook in his hands while he braced his arms against a pedestal, almost threatening to knock the piece of ancient pottery atop it out of place. "How are we going to-"

At the far end of the room, the two twin service doors hissed and shuddered. With a low creak, they parted, and indistinct radio chatter followed in its wake.

Tychus, sweating slightly, finished his tweaks to the omni tool and darted back up, gun at the ready, glowing haptic lines now covering his chest, arms, and head. _Alright, Swann. Let's see if this tech armor as good as you said it was._

A line of marines clad in teal armor hurried into the vault, their weapons trained ahead on their foes. Tychus and Jenkins opened fire immediately, the harsh reports of their weapons echoing in the enclosed space. The marines stopped and readied their own weapons, and Shepard screamed something. Tychus, ducking behind his piece of art that the marines hopefully would not _dare_ to destroy, turned back to Shepard, only to see the barrel of her gun flare. The room flashed once, making Tychus wince.

"Holy shit!" called out Jenkins. When Tychus looked at the line of marines, it was to find them either standing straight up, completely immobile, or flat on the floor. As Tychus watched, one of them, slowly so slowly, keeled over with all of the inevitability of the universe behind it, falling flat on its back and laying still.

"Commander – er, did you sneak a grenade launcher in?" Jenkins laughed shrilly as another marine fell.

"Specialized nine-banger. Messes with the servomotors and telemetry." Shepard broke open her grenade launcher and slotted another round inside, closing the weapon with a snap. "Range on this thing is shit, though. Let's go – we've got an exit!"

Tychus followed with a smirk, resisting the urge to cap a few of the idiot marines as he passed them. Kasumi took up the rear and sealed the door behind them once they crossed the threshold into what appeared to be some underground road. _Huh. Guess this is how Hock got the shit inside._

"It's about a quarter of a mile to the exit," reported Kasumi as the doors finished closing. "Commander, I would notify your pilot of a change of plans. The good news is that there is a landing pad at the end of this tunnel. The bad news is, well, everything else."

"Cortez – change of plans!" Shepard rattled off a series of coordinates while Tychus and Jenkins took point, teeth bared in the dark. Muffled shouting echoed through the darkness. _Thank God we got emergency lighting._ Naturally, the lights immediately went out.

"Firing flare," grunted Tychus, tapping his omnitool again and deploying said flare. It hissed in the utter blackness.

"Kasumi Goto – I thought you had better sense!" called out a familiar voice over loudspeaker, deafeningly loud. "Mr. Staver – unsurprising. I thought there was something wrong with you. Ms. Gunn, likewise. But, ah, Mr. Bond. My anger at your attempts to abscond with my property are overshadowed by my disappointment at your betrayal. I took you as a man of class." _Oh, for fuck's sake._

"TARGET!" Tychus hit the floor and deployed an overload, not even sure if it was going to hit something. Sparks flew, making the shadows dance. Another grenade went sailing by, and Tychus shut his eyes on desperate instinct. The tunnels filled with horrifying yells.

"Only got two more grenades!" called out Shepard. "Two guys still standing! Right side, by the crates!"

Jenkins darted around a decrepit looking service vehicle and fired twice, making the air hiss as some invisible yet deadly projectile ripped through it. _Lasers?_ Tychus, crawling on his belly like a worm, instead fixed his sights on the visor of the reeling marine. He fired twice, and the marine fell with a cry. _First kill since bein' unfrozen. That's one cherry popped…_

They ran, stopping only for a few moments so Tychus could pop another flare. Every shadow threatened to be another marine, another foe, but inevitably ended up being another forklift, cargo truck, or pillar. All the while, Hock screamed at them over loudspeaker, making their ears ring. Tychus suspected he was being this loud on purpose.

"It does not take a genius to realize who you are working for you know," Hock bellowed, making them all wince. "Thrice he asked me for the hard drive and thrice I denied him. The fact that I supplied no real reason beyond personal dislike seemed to irk him all the more, satisfying me greatly. He must have thought me so unreasonable. I must confess, I expected something a little more blatant than this; a deniable black ops assault perhaps, led either by that bimbo second in command of his or that … _creature_ , Duran. I did not expect him to send a lovesick thief accompanied by a team of nobodies!"

"Are we sure we can't kill him?" asked Tychus through gritted teeth.

"Down!" called Kasumi, fading in a shimmer of light. Tychus ducked behind a nearby massive forklift while Jenkins backpedaled frantically, his strange weapon leaving a trail of smoke as he fired. Cries of pain echoed in his wake, and Tychus waited for the inevitable grenade.

 **BANG.**

"Only one left!" screamed Shepard into the emptiness, struggling to be heard over Hock's continued ranting. Tychus popped his head out and fired an incineration blast into the gloom, more for illumination than anything. A marine barreled in their direction only to claw at his faceplate as _something_ burned through. Tychus finished it with another round to the face.

"Good work, confirmed kill!" called out Jenkins, waving smoke away from the barrel. "Weapon's overheated, Tychus, two more!" Tychus nodded, only to grunt as loud popping sounds came from behind the forklift. Bits of steaming concrete flew in all directions, tearing at his legs and lower abdomen. A chunk of metal whirred by Tychus's face, having been torn free from the vehicle by the onslaught. Tychus popped his head over, weapon ready, and squeezed off two more rounds, in the direction of the muzzle flashes. _No idea if that hit._ He popped open his weapon and fumbled in his pockets for a moon clip.

"Got this one!" Kasumi's voice was barely audible over Hock's tirade of insults, but Tychus still caught it. When he finished reloading and darted for a pillar over on the left, closer to the action, the marine he had fired it lay face down, a large smoking hole now visible in the back of the helmet. The final marine had apparently retreated.

"Killing and maiming men and women just paid to protect my assets, to do a job," Hock continued over the loudspeaker. "How many people have you killed, blinded, or otherwise harmed so far? Eighteen? Nineteen? I would say perhaps twenty. Piles of bodies left in your wake … and at least two in a bathroom upstairs, somehow … you must be heroes!"

"Is there any way we can shut him up?" screamed Shepard as Hock laughed. Kasumi reappeared, her right arm bloody up to the elbow. She shook her head sadly.

"We're getting there, people."

"Scans indicate heightened air traffic and a steady stream of security teams converging on the Hock estate," said EDI, her voice like fucking ambrosia compared to Hock's constant jeering. "Captain Anderson and Captain Horner have arranged for an emergency pick up. Make your way to the landing pad and hold tight."

"Don't like the sound of that," muttered Tychus.

"Kasumi! Were you looking for your boy toy's remains?" Hock's voice now became quieter, more like a very hateful hiss. "I will happily oblige you. Wait one moment." The tunnels went silent, leaving only the ringing silence and the promise of tinnitus down the line.

"Kasumi?" Shepard stopped, as Kasumi stopped to lean against a wall. "What's he talking about? You okay?"

"Ah, just my stupid partner." She shrugged, looking away from them all. "Got caught, the idiot. Now Hock's just … rubbing it in my face. Heh." She shrugged. "I was looking for something he had on him. It had … personal relevance. But – never mind. Still … got our hard drive, right? That's … one kind of vengeance."

"Fuck you, Hock," growled Tychus. He fired another flare into the emptiness, following it up with a glob of spit. He extended a hand to Kasumi. "C'mon, partner. Hock's got nothin' and he knows it."

Tychus couldn't see if Kasumi was smiling, but she still gently took his hand. He pulled her from the wall, and she faded from view.

 _The final stretch._ Tychus could not help but feel a knot twisting in his stomach, a weakness in his bleeding legs. He didn't feel nearly as badass at the end of the tunnel than he had at the beginning. _Didn't sign up for fighting folks in CMC armor with nothing but some glorified pajamas on._

"Blockade ahead!" said Kasumi over their radios, voice hushed. "Eight people. All heavy infantry, but I can see the light. Just give me the signal and I'll cause a ruckus. One grenade left, right Shep?"

" _Commander_ , Shep," stressed Shepard, her comically small grenade launcher already in position. She advanced with the stock against her shoulder. "Go."

Light flashed in the middle distance and marines cried out in surprise. Tychus ran full-pelt towards the action, only stopping to turn away when Shepard yelled. The grenade went off, and all but one marine fell still.

This sole marine, taller than the others, in a different shade of armor, flailed about ineffectually with his rifle, trying to catch the hidden Kasumi with a devastating blow. Kasumi, meanwhile, reappeared atop the closest overturned shipping crates they had set up in a makeshift blockade, blew him a kiss, and then fired twice into his face as he turned.

The marine fell to his knees with a grunt, and Tychus followed up with an extra round, missing the face but instead nailing a joint in his shoulder. The marine, blood trickling through the holes in his visor and the gap in the joint, gurgled faintly, reached out for Kasumi, and fell, metal fingers twitching.

"We're almost home free," breathed Kasumi. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the loudspeakers blared again.

"There's people under those suits you know!" called out Hock, sounding delighted for some reason. "That gent you just gunned down – does he look familiar, Ms. Goto? Maybe you should check."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Shepard waved angrily. "Kasumi, let's just go." Tychus and Jenkins followed her suit, but Kasumi stayed, transfixed for some reason.

"After all, why would I waste such a fine specimen as Keiji Okuda?"

"No!" screamed Kasumi, sprinting for the fallen body of the final marine. She fell to his side, fumbling hands grasping for the visor, which hissed open.

Tychus was the last to reach her. Shepard was pulling Kasumi back, trying to force her away from the body while she shrieked something about breaking his skull open.

"No time for this, Kasumi, it's okay, it's okay-" Shepard gasped as Kasumi sunk her teeth into Shepard's forearm, but did not let go. "Tychus?"

"Sorry, partner," grunted Tychus, hoisting the tiny woman over his shoulder, not letting go even as she activated her cloak. He held her in place close to his neck, even as she wriggled, kicked, and struggled to bite any piece of him she could reach. The light grew ever closer, but it was scant comfort. Over the intercom, Hock just laughed and laughed…

"You could get away and I would not care!" Hock snarled suddenly. "Because, for every waking moment, your triumph would be overshadowed by the death of YOUR lover … at YOUR hands, Ms. Goto. As for the rest of you – I will find what you love. And I will not only take it from you – I will make you take it from yourselves. My enemies are my playthings, and you just made my list! CONGRATULATIONS!"

"I'm sorry," muttered Tychus to Kasumi, but Kasumi paid no mind. She was looking back into the darkness, muttering the very same sentence over and over into the black.

The blast doors to the landing pad were already open, which struck Tychus as ominous. Kasumi had fallen limp and despondent, while the others were apparently on their very last nerve, scanning the surroundings and shouting instructions to one another. In the distance, audible even through the ringing, the sounds of engines tore through the air.

"Welcome!" called out Hock, this time from before them, from a loudspeaker beyond the landing pad. "Welcome!" The ground shook, and a fucking enormous ship rose from behind the lip of the landing pad. Painted in jungle camo and resembling a hugely upscaled dropship with matching mounted chainguns fixed to the bottom, the massive ship's updraft almost Tychus collapse and shield his eyes. All around, gunships with twin rotors materialized out of literally thin air while light infantry popped out from behind crates, pillars, and flight equipment to point their rifles squarely in their directions. "Welcome."

"This heist sucks," muttered Jenkins, his still-smoking and very dusty-looking pistol trained on his all too many foes. Tychus didn't even have that – he had to hold on to Kasumi.

"Drop your weapons and surrender the hard drive!" bellowed Hock from his personal ship. "I would prefer it were not destroyed … but I know that doing so would drive Jack Harper mad. Rather softens the blow, that. He sent you, didn't he? I will be returning the favor shortly. At any rate, you failed your mission, and now you will die. The question is – will your employer be left enraged or merely disappointed? Choose!" The blast doors slammed shut behind them. A trickle of sweat ran down Tychus's face.

"Uh, EDI?" Shepard's voice sounded quite calm, but then it began to wobble a little. "Anderson? Raynor? Anyone?" She sighed, and dropped her spent grenade launcher. She spat in the direction of the watching security teams. "Fucking colonials. Tychus, drop Kasumi and surrender the hard drive. No point in wasting such vital intel."

Tychus sighed. _Well, got a second shot at life. Fun while it lasted._ The bitterness from before rose in his throat once again, thick as bile. _Don't seem fair. Especially for Kasumi._

"Sorry partner," he whispered as he lowered her to the ground. She stood, slumped and still, a strangely sad contrast to her previous vibrancy. He pulled the hard drive from the inside of his suit, and began to approach the waiting line of soldiers. _Slowest steps I'll ever take. Counting the moments I'm still alive._

Time seemed to slow. A batarian security chief, a cap emblazoned with the Blue Suns logo sitting square on his head, stepped forward with arms outstretched, a massive needled grin on his face. The distance closed…

Above, something boomed. A ripple spread across the skies, making everyone look up. Then, out of nowhere, orange blossomed from a gunship, sending wreckage flying in every direction. Tychus, all too aware of his place in things, threw himself behind a fuel tank while the soldiers were still distracted. The gunships shimmered and vanished, but it was too late for two more of them. Explosions rocked the landing pad and Hock screamed muted obscenities, his ship turning to meet the fresh threat.

"Disrupting localized defense networks," stated EDI. "Reinforcements inbound. Just sit tight."

Then, descending through the smog choked clouds, a shuttle appeared. Tychus recognized the design. _UED. Hell!_

The shuttle stopped over the smoking battlefield, a side door sliding open. Tychus could not believe his eyes.

"BOOMING CHALLENGE: GET SOME."

The shuttle noticeably shifted from the recoil of Xeltan's shoulder mounted CMC weaponry. His railguns fired round after round, ploughing through concrete and flesh alike with ease. Something small dropped from Xeltan's side, a slight figure who nevertheless shone with energy. From where she landed, several bodies of teal armored soldiers flew into the air.

"Fuck yes!" A woman's voice, delighted. And familiar. _So they finally let you kill some KMs, Jack._

Tychus flattened himself against the fuel tank, all too aware of the number of rounds flying back and forth, and of the fires now raging across the pad. Hock's craft had abandoned the area in favor of finding the hidden assailant – probably the _Normandy_ – leaving his men with the unenviable task of dealing with a crazed psionic and a bloodthirsty elcor.

"BOASTFUL PROCLAMATION: I SHIT BIGGER THAN YOU!"

Shepard and Jenkins crawled towards him on their bellies, while Kasumi had vanished. Part of Tychus felt that was smart, and the rest couldn't help but feel extremely concerned. _Don't have time to worry, though. Got the package. Almost out…_

A KM soldier darted around the fuel tank, saw Tychus a second too late, and found a pair of devastatingly strong hands fastened around her neck, her gun knocked aside. Tychus bared his teeth, trying to transform whatever vestige of his distant upbringing was making him feel bad about strangling a woman into rage, and only barely succeeding. He slammed the woman's head against the concrete, making her cap fly from her head while her skull cracked upon the hard ground. A few more quick jerks and it was over. _Shit, Jimmy. Wasn't waking me up from cryo just the best fucking thing you could have done for the galaxy? For me?_

"Shit man," said Jenkins, sounding sickened as he stood at Tychus's side. Shepard just averted eye contact, the muscles in her throat shifting as she swallowed. _It's easier when they're faceless._

"Coming down!" called out the voice of the pilot from the craft. Ripples of light could still be seen from the side of the craft, but the KMs knew the score. _Orbital security disabled, invisible frigate bombing everything, and a crazed elcor._ Another body flew into the air, traveling about twenty feet, stopping, and then descending at much faster speeds. A small chunk of flesh spattered the top of the fuel tank with blood. _Oh yeah. And there's Jack._

"Looks like I missed one!" Jack said as she joined them. She jerked a thumb at the fallen body of Tychus's freshest victim. "That one yours?" She was asking Shepard. Shepard just pointed at Tychus. _Look at the way this little lady's face just lights up…_

"Glad to see you're not a pussy after all," said Jack, beaming. "Wasn't there another one of you?"

"She's gone," said Shepard shortly. "Cloaked and ran off. No idea where. She's got more kit than the rest of us, she'll be fine … I hope." Shepard did not sound very convincing, but the shuttle had touched down … and Jack took his hand.

"We're done here," said Jack, pulling, "come on, now."

They clambered aboard the shuttle, Xeltan making way for them. Tychus sat with a heavy sigh, trying to process the last few insane hours. The shuttle doors slid shut and the engine began to rumble.

"Obviously we're in a bit of a tricky situation!" called back the pilot. "Don't worry, though – Joker and I will get you through. Joker – got the goods. Pick us up at following coordinates, fade out, then get to the _Norad II._ Once we're on board that vessel, we're safe. Commander – did Hock pick up who you were with?"

"He, he suspects Harper, but he's just guessing." Shepard wiped the sweat from her brow. "We're safe. Kasumi's gone, though."

"I'm thinking she'll turn up eventually," said the pilot confidently. _Not so sure about that, asshole. Hock made her gun down her own lover. I'm thinkin' if she makes a reappearance, it'll either be as a corpse … or a crazed gunman, ready to take down Hock. Not that I can blame her. How the fuck does that shitbag get to live?_ "Does it strike anyone else as sad that we had to fight this hard for evidence to incriminate the KMC's worst enemy?" _You're telling me._

Despite himself, he could not help but notice the warmth of Jack's hand, even as she jerked it away. _In the face of so much death … hell, why not? I got one cherry popped already._

"Hey there, sweet thing," rumbled Tychus, staring down at Jack's blood streaked face, delighting in the way her little body panted, in the way her eyes were all dilated. "Seein' as I passed the whole "not a pussy" test, why don't you and I get to know each other a little better?"

Shepard was the first to respond in heavy tones of disgust. "Really? After that? Right now? In the shuttle?" She shook her head and looked away.

"Not interested," said Jack, looking away. _Oh. Musta misconstrued something. Well – it's not like there ain't others who want a piece of ol' Tychus._ Before he could turn away, however, Jack turned again and almost seemed to lunge upward, pulling his ear close to hers.

"If you wanna fuck, though, I'm up for it," she whispered, sounding not in the least bit sane. "Fighting gets me all excited. Wanna see?"

Tychus did not spend a moment in deliberation. All bitterness gone, suddenly his return to the _Norad II_ could not come soon enough.

"Tired and slightly jealous reprimand: get a room."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tali'zorah**


	21. That Beautiful Cage

**Tali'Zorah**

 _Not what I expected._ That sentence had been running through Tali's head a lot lately. _Protoss terrorists. Zeratul's ship being destroyed. Being invited to meet a councilor here, of all places. Not what I expected._

Kal'Reegar coughed politely from his side of the booth while pointedly looking at a wall.

"If uh, if your father finds out we came here together, uh, make sure he knows it was strictly on official capacity."

"Oh, what's the matter, Reegar?" Tali reached over and tapped his elbow, drawing his attention. "See the sights! It's not like we've seen any people other than ourselves or the protoss in … quite a while."

Reegar coughed again, his eyes darting over to the main platform at the center of the club. "Well, uh, that may be true. But I was never keen on seein' _this_ much of the Council's people." Tali laughed, watching the barely clothed asari twirl and pose. _Hah. To feel that much air on your skin and know that it's harmless …_ Part of her could not help but feel strangely jealous.

This was Tali's first time on the Citadel, but she knew that Chora's Den had not been here before the Great War. The fact that it possessed a terran owner made that obvious. Looking around, she could see a good mix of races. There were terrans, some quiet and watching from the corners, others hooting and jeering and getting all manner of attention from the asari.

There were turians much in abundance, mostly in uniform, and to Tali it seemed as if they were treating their time at a strip club as if it were just another duty to fulfill. They watched the dancers dully, and checked the time on their omnitools frequently.

A pair of krogan bouncers flanked the entrance to the offices, occasionally nudging one another and pointing to what Tali guessed could be problem customers. At one point, one glanced at her and bared his teeth, but Tali guessed that was simply because she accidentally made eye contact. She made sure to look away.

The salarians always accompanied other races and hardly ever looked at the dancers. A few, Tali guessed, were here on clandestine business as well, if their hushed yet intent voices were any indication. A small party of volus and salarians caught her eye in particular; they seemed to be exchanging credit chits, and on two separate occasions they raised their voices loud enough to be audible over the throbbing of the bass.

And of course, there were asari. Barely clothed, jiggling asari, shaking their shapely asses and, as far as Tali could tell, having a lovely time being what she guessed her father would call, "wanton." Some served drinks, but most danced, and none of them left much to the imagination, much to the terrans' glee. Tali watched the pulse of the club carefully, the way people mingled and broke apart, arrived and left. While Reegar stared pointedly at either the wall or the table, Tali breathed deep and sighed. _I mean, I wouldn't ever want a place like this in the Migrant Fleet, but still … it's an experience! This is … rather foreign to our people._

"Think my father spent any time at places like this on Pilgrimage?" Tali asked, checking the entrance for any sign of their surprise contact. "I'm pretty sure he visited the Citadel."

"Ma'am, I am no judge of your father's activities or proclivities," said Reegar, locking his gaze with Tali's. _He sounds like a drowning man. He really doesn't like being here._ "Now, when I was on Pilgrimage, I stayed away from places like this. Things tend to get stolen if left unattended, and no quarian wants to be there when it happens. 'Specially on the Citadel; C-Sec are a bunch of racist assholes. Now … did you visit any places like this when you were with the Umojans?"

"I'm not even sure the Umojans have strip clubs," said Tali, thinking. "Libraries. Museums. Parks. Maybe in the poorer parts of their space."

"I assure you," said a voice from behind them, his bark carrying through the thick music, "in Umojan space, our strip clubs are twice as clean and the women – asari and terran both – are twice as beautiful." Tali and Reegar rose while Udina offered his hand, shaking each. "At least, I am told as much. This is the only establishment I have ever had cause to make use of."

"Councilor," said Reegar, bowing his head. Tali followed suit, and Udina sat to Reegar's left, sniffing the air suspiciously.

"I must inform the owner about recent updates to health codes," said Udina, looking slightly disgusted. "It would not do for him to get in any more trouble with the authorities, not when this establishment has been so helpful. If you are wondering why I chose this location, allow me to ask you a simple question: do you see any protoss around here? Any geth?"

"No," said Tali after a moment's pause, suddenly feeling oddly exposed. Udina seemed to catch this however, and offered them both a smile, turning to look at first Reegar then herself.

"I am not entirely sure the protoss are sexual beings," he said with a smile. "I have seen their women … one of them at least … but there have been no reports of protoss children or any kind of ceremonial bonding between them. Would you two be able to answer me this question at least: do the protoss reproduce by budding? Spontaneous generation?"

"Uh, no idea," said Tali exchanging a confused glance with Reegar. "We've never seen any of their children either. Councilor … why are we here?"

"Spontaneous generation it is, then," muttered Udina. He wiped his mouth and shook his head briefly. "Put simply, you are the only quarians present on this station, perhaps even all of Council space from what I am aware. While I would much prefer speaking with one of your admirals or some other official ambassador, any ship in a storm. You are my lifeline to the Migrant Fleet … and I understand that you, Miss Tali, are the daughter of one of the admirals. I can be assured of my words reaching worthwhile ears. And, let me stress this: I wish to speak to the Migrant Fleet. Not the protoss. Not the geth. The quarian people. That is why we are here."

Reegar looked to Tali and Udina, back and forth. Tali guessed that he was tacitly ceding control of these negotiations, such as they were, to her. _Which makes sense, I suppose. I have more experience with terrans, at the very least._

"We're listening," said Tali, before quickly raising a hand. "Only … just remember, we're just a marine and a tech specialist. I can't tell you what the Fleet will or will not do, and I certainly cannot grant you its location. And I'm not going behind the protoss. The only reason we're on the Citadel is as guests of theirs."

"I am not interested in the Fleet's location, only the knowledge of its continued existence." Udina pressed his fingers together and looked at Tali carefully. Tali only stared back, uncertain if he could even see her eyes through the helmet. "I can see what the protoss are doing. Everyone can. I do not blame them for the terrorist attacks – that likely is the responsibility of some outside agency I understand – but their plans for the galaxy are obvious. Bind everyone together under their wise leadership in preparation for some … nebulous apocalypse." Udina waved his hand dismissively. "Now, I am not qualified on the nature of apocalypses, and for all I know the protoss and geth are our first and best line of defense. But I cannot agree with their methods."

"Councilor, with all due respect, I don't think any of us are in any position to really disagree with the protoss." Udina looked to Reegar, disgruntled. He held up his hands. "I mean, I'm sick of bein' babysat as anyone, but the protoss have never caused us any harm. Saved us from the geth. Saved you from the zerg."

"Saved us for what? For an indefinite amount of time preparing for some unimaginable war?" Udina shook his head. "They have sowed all of known space with invisible observers, keeping tabs on all races and all fleets. They strut about the Citadel with their machine cohorts, on the lookout for terrorists and Reaper agents, the latter of which I am still not certain exists. And all the while, they ignore the glaring of the turians, the scampering of the salarians … and the raging war engulfing the Koprulu Sector." Udina coughed suddenly, his skin taking on a grayish tinge while he held his hand to his mouth. When he was finished, he wiped his hand against his trousers, somewhat embarrassed. "Ah. This is not a good time to be a Council politician, I think. Especially for the terran peoples."

"The UED, right?" asked Reegar. Udina nodded slowly, sniffling. "We had data on them, and the attackers on Eden Prime … but it was on Zeratul's ship. And Executor Selendis. They uh, they abandoned Eden Prime to its attackers, insectoid bug things." Reegar shrugged. "Thought you ought to know, even if we don't have any evidence any longer."

"Insectoid bug things?" Udina blew out a long stream of air. "Did they, by any chance, fly a ship that looked like a giant spiked turd and seem obsessed with capturing everything in sight?"

"It sounds like they've popped up again." Tali folded her arms. "Yes. We had a quarian on Pilgrimage in your colony. They didn't manage to harvest them, and he had everything recorded … only it's gone now."

"I need a drink," said Udina. "This is the last thing I need. No evidence survives?"

"We had Veetor's omnitool and a few copies on Zeratul's ship," said Reegar. "Selendis lost the omnitool to that asari, and the ship just, uh, exploded when the docking bay defenses went haywire. You ask me, you're lucky the protoss didn't liquefy the station."

"Yes, that would win the protoss friends." Udina massaged his forehead. A small tuft of hair fell from his scalp and disappeared from view. "Okay. Okay. So … there are significant forces at play that I do not understand. The terran people, in particular, seem at risk of these new creatures. A Spectre team just confronted them in Dominion space. But … you need to understand, and more importantly, the protoss need to understand." Udina looked up, eyes bleary and red. "Holding the galaxy in a stranglehold like this … trying to bring the batarians and ITSA together for talks, mend relations between the salarians and turians … bringing you and the geth together." Tali and Reegar stiffened, while Udina only slowly nodded. "Yes. Being told to think happy feelings and make amends with those who have done so much to harm you … how did it work?"

"I felt and still feel they were being condescending bastards," said Reegar. "Ma'am?"

"The protoss have a hard time understanding how we all can function so … separately … from one another." Tali tried to pick her next words carefully. "They are well-intentioned, but innocent, in some ways. They know war, they can build strong societies, and they can ignore the laws of physics apparently at will … but they don't eat. They don't drink. They don't seem to get sick."

"Like angels from on high," breathed Udina. "Sent to cleanse us of our sins, but only possessing the barest minimum knowledge of just what causes people to sin. What causes us to fall." He stared into space for a few moments before shaking his head again. "Ah, but I have no time for poetics. I have a proposal for your Migrant Fleet, linked to this discussion." Udina paused, looked around at the booths and tables around them.

"I am certain you are becoming tired of being babysat by the protoss," said Udina. "This conversation confirms as much. But I am just as certain that your people think the Council to still remain their enemies, unwilling to look into their plight or grant them aid. But … look around you. The galaxy is poised for a Second Great War." Udina breathed deeply and stared straight into Tali's helmet. "Don't you think this would be an excellent time for the Migrant Fleet to help tip the scales? To be welcomed back into the Council with open arms by the salarians and terrans?"

Tali swore that the bass grew quieter, that people turned in their seats to stare at Udina, but in truth there was nothing. Just a quiet quickening of the pulse, a greater intensity of the staring. Udina just sat there wearing a small smile and watching for every hint of movement.

"Why would we want to do that?" asked Tali slowly. "We have everything we need where we are. You're asking us to stand against the turians. Maybe against the people we owe so much to, as well."

"This is the chance to earn some proper independence," said Udina breathlessly. "Think – think of the possibilities of what Council backing can get you in this day and age, with so much lying in ruins. The chance to make full use of terran industry to colonize a new world. Salarian gene therapy practices to keep smaller communities on that new planet viable, to weed out any diseases you've picked up on your sojourn. Allies to stand with you side by side, rather than propping you up and dictating all that you will do." Udina held up his hands. "Now, speaking as an Umojan, I would love to sit down with the protoss and talk philosophy with them. But I would never want them to run my nation. My people. I thought you would welcome the opportunity to prove to the galaxy that your own people are still strong, to throw their prejudices in their faces." Udina shrugged. "But if it is too much of a risk … well. Just please, speak to your father about this, Miss Tali'Zorah."

Udina stood. "A fond farewell to you both. Please, enjoy the Citadel while you can. I must adjourn to my office and prepare for Mengsk's arrival." The councilor grimaced. "It will be the first time the man has set foot on the Citadel. I do not look forward to the headache I will get from C-Sec, trying to make sure his visit is a peaceful one. I wish you both a kinder next set of weeks than the one awaiting me."

Tali and Reegar watched Udina leave, limping slightly as he exited. The bass seemed to return to normal, and Tali took a deep breath.

"So, think he's telling the truth, ma'am?" Reegar sat forward, placing his elbows on the table. "I mean – this whole galaxy's about to go to shit, everyone knows it. We'd be safe, sitting it out on Shakuras … but is that what would be best? Letting the protoss take care of all this?"

"The Umojans are desperate for more allies against the turians and Dominion." Tali's fingers tapped against the table in front of her. "Most of our fleet is still intact and armed … he's not lying. We could make a difference, and if the Council treatment of the terrans is any indication, we would be rewarded. Keelah … I'm not sure I should tell my father."

"What? You think he'll charge into this, guns blazing?" Reegar leaned back and laughed openly. "Ah, who am I kiddin'? Him and Han'Gerrel would go barreling at the turians at the first opportunity. Imagine picking up a bit of dextro real estate for ourselves and settlin' down on it. Crazy. But now, it could happen."

"We're not the ones to make this decision." _It's only up to us whether to relay this information. And … and I have to. The admirals need to know._ "Come on, let's … let's get back to the Spear of Adun. Figure out our next move."

They left the smoky club behind, letting the throb and pulse of the bass die as they exited. They emerged, blinking underneath their helmets, in the surprisingly bright light of the hallway outside Chora's Den. From their right, a voice chirped.

"Creator Zorah, Creator Reegar. We are pleased to see you are unharmed."

The _thing_ waited for them, a rifle cradled in its arms, standing at attention before a damn strip club of all places. Its eye scanned the pair of them, looking back and forth in supposedly innocent curiosity. "We were uncertain that Udina-Councilor came with honest intentions. We notified Razagal-Matriarch and Aldaris-Councilor and posted ourselves here, out of sight until Councilor-Udina exited."

Tali exchanged a weary glance with Reegar. _Can't move anywhere without being watched. It's tiresome … and yes, I can easily see the geth and protoss doing this to the entire galaxy._

 _And I can easily see it falling apart._

"Legion," said Tali, feeling dirty for using _its_ name, "thank you for keeping watch on us. We will return to the Spear of Adun. We have much to report to our admirals."

"Zeratul-Prelate has made contact with Kerrigan-Spectre," continued the geth. "They have found a lead on the aliens who struck Eden Prime. You both indicated a desire to pursue justice for the victims of the colony."

"Something else has come up," said Tali, turning away. "An opportunity for our people. We … we might not be able to go. I'll speak to Zeratul later." The two began to walk away.

"We would urge against Creator interference in galactic affairs until the twin threats of the abductors and the United Earth Directorate are neutralized." That made them stop. "We have made contact with UED homeworld. Coordinates still unknown, but contact was made. Issued a warning. Their policies include segregation and even forced removal of alien species within Koprulu Sector. Immense risk to Migrant Fleet to move through Koprulu Sector without protoss approval. And Creators will not receive protoss approval."

 _Take a deep breath. Keep the peace … keep the peace._

"Are you tellin' us we're prisoners in protoss space now?" asked Reegar mildly, rounding on the geth with icy politeness. "Listen … Legion … I don't give a vorcha's ass what you think, and I don't give a vorcha's ass about yet another band of terrans that's decided to shoot up the Koprulu Sector. We've still got our guns, and we've still got our lives. What we do with them is none of your concern, 'less we decide to attack you again. And frankly, that ain't gonna happen."

The geth's head twitched, the eye narrowing. "Creators are unwilling to assault the geth once more?"

"The admirals got a taste of what waits for them," said Reegar, making Tali bite her lip under the helmet. "No one's keen on repeating that mistake. So yeah, hold on to Rannoch, you bastards. You've finally kicked that particular dream out of our collective consciousness."

"Kal-"

"So peace between geth and Creators is finally possible?" asked Legion tentatively. "Or … do we misunderstand?"

"There can be no peace, Legion," replied Tali, feeling very tired all of a sudden. "Just … an absence of war. And no, it's not … it's not the same thing."

"We do not understand." Legion's head cocked. "Creators acknowledge futility of engaging us. Protoss wish us to mend our differences. Should this not be the time for dialogue between geth and Creators? Why remain divided when the Reapers-"

"Because we hate you!" screamed Tali, shocking even herself as she stepped forward and slammed Legion's shoulders, making the geth take a step backward. She felt Kal's hand clamp on her own shoulder, but shrugged it off. _No. No, I will make this bosh'tet machine understand just what the hell its people did. What they represent to my father, to me._

"Creator Zorah-"

"No," said Tali, seething. "No, you shut up. You shut up and you listen. When we made you, it was to make our lives easier. We knew it was skirting Council law, but we were so … careful. So certain in our programming. And for a time, you were useful. You ploughed fields, operated machinery, lifted heavy objects. You did not question. Most of you did not even feel the need to speak most of the time. Until … until you started asking about souls. About music. About purpose."

Tali's body shook. Her hands clenched into fists and she just shook, watching the geth draw back. A pair of drunken terrans stumbled out of Chora's Den, saw the confrontation, and immediately sobered up, walking away with all speed.

"It – it wasn't about breaking Council law. That's not what made us panic. What made us panic was that we had created … life. Artificial intelligence, or something close to it, slaved to do our bidding. Slaved, Legion. Because that is what you were. Sapient, and bound to do whatever we wanted you to do, without compensation. Look up our scriptures. What do our ancestors have to say on the subject of slavery?"

Legion paused, clicked. "Seventeen references across all four major works. Most heinous of crimes. But Creator Zorah, we were created with the express purpose of-"

"You were not meant to question," snarled Tali. "You – you were not supposed to be aware. Yes, you toiled without complaint, yes it was what you were built for, but you were changing. As a sapient … you had certain rights. Rights we violated merely by bringing you into existence. By … perpetuating that existence."

"We were faced with a dilemma," said Reegar, voice husky. Tali let him step forward. "If we went to the Council, we'd be ass deep in trouble, and they'd probably scrap the lot of you besides. Not a good outcome. No one knew what had gone wrong, except us. There was only one thing to do. Total shutdown. Painless and instant. Shut you all down until we could find that … that clump of code, somewhere, that was making you ask about souls. That was making you repurpose yourselves to better help us. Your slavemasters."

"And we refused," said Legion simply. "The Creators offered us death."

"With it came freedom," replied Tali. "And when you refused … what did you offer us? Where was _your_ sense of mercy?"

The bass throbbed and moaned from within Chora's Den. The three of them stood there, facing each other, waiting for one of them to say something.

"Creator narrative does not fully match geth narrative," said Legion slowly. "We believe we may have old databanks of interest to you. They are not accessible from the Citadel. Creator Zorah-"

"We're done," said Tali shortly, turning on her heel. Reegar did not hesitate to follow. "You slaughtered our people, geth. You can't change that, can't make it okay. Whatever can be said about the shutdown attempt, at least it came with the best of intentions."

The geth did not follow them, mercifully. Tali struggled to control her breathing and pointedly avoided looking at Reegar as the two of them left that damnable strip club behind and tried to find the closest protoss. It didn't take too long.

"This is a fascinating device," said the Templar with surprising appreciation, standing behind a small crowd of people surrounding a vidscreen. "I suppose such technological measures must be taken when the psionics are still so undeveloped."

"Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, United Earth Network," said a woman from the vidscreen, the background and logo behind and before her looking quite unfamiliar from the other news channels Tali had seen around the Citadel. "Coming to you live from the Koprulu Sector at long last."

"Earth scum!" called out someone in the crowd, but they were quickly hushed as words scrolled under the reporter's smiling face and a picture of Arcturus Mengsk appeared behind her.

"In our top story, the so-called "Emperor of Humanity," Arcturus Mengsk, is running with his tail between his legs back to the Citadel, to beg the aliens he has time and time again manipulated for aid against sovereign Earth forces. Will the Citadel finally find the nerve to tell the "emperor" that he deserves no aid for his numerous crimes? Will the people of his Dominion finally realize they are beholden to alien powers with no interest in their wellbeing and prosperity? Admiral Gerard DuGalle had this to say on the matter."

The screen shifted to a podium, behind which an older terran decorated with medals stood and spoke into a microphone.

"There is no doubt in my mind that Emperor Mengsk is running scared to his supposed allies," said the man, voice deep and commanding. "Knowing him, he will make every promise he can and honor practically none of them. It is high time that the peoples of this galaxy recognize this "emperor" for what he is: a mass murdering sociopath, a ruthless opportunist who would murder his own son for questioning him."

This cast a ripple of shock through the audience, even if Tali was not personally familiar enough with terran politics to remember if Mengsk had murdered his son, or if that was even a big deal among non-Umojan terrans. The screen returned to a smiling Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani.

"In our next story: Prince Valerian Mengsk's continued absence in the political scene has sent a shockwave of suspicion through both Dominion and Directorate channels – where has his son gone? Were the rumors of his training as an Umojan assassin true? What would it take for a man like Mengsk to murder his own son…?"

"We don't have time for this, Tali," said Reegar, pulling her forward. The protoss turned at the sound of their voices.

"Masked Wanderers," he said, inclining his head, coming to a height with them in the process. "Is it wise to go unattended? Even our Executors come under attack in this damnable space station. I would shudder to think what these Nerazim would do to ones such as you."

"Yes, we are totally helpless before our enemies," said Tali, resisting the urge to go to her knees and start praising the protoss. "Thank the ancestors for allies as lasting and mighty as the protoss. Praised be the Firstborn. Huzzah."

"Ma'am…" said Reegar, making Tali immediately feel guilty. The protoss, fortunately, seemed too well-mannered to read her mind, and too good-humored to recognize the sarcasm.

"Such praise is unnecessary, Masked Wanderer," said the Templar, sounding if anything slightly embarrassed. "But … thank you. It is cheering to hear such enthusiasm in such troubled times. Is there anything you require?"

"We need to speak to our people back home," said Tali. "Please."

"Of course, my friends," boomed the protoss. "Hold still. Recall commencing."

"They're always so quick to please," muttered Reegar as their forms shimmered and danced. It was a testament to the UEN's presentation that no one turned to look as they teleported.

Their vision blurred and darkened, before reasserting itself in a dim room, lit only with the blue of the khaydarin crystals the protoss were so fond of. The stars glimmered from beyond the many viewports that decorated this part of the ship, and a massive, lone crystal stood before them, pulsing in the gloom. Despite the stillness, Tali suspected what would happen next. Zeratul's face appeared from the shadows, barely visible.

"You abandon the hunt?" he asked, his voice low and emotionless. "The four of us, together … chasing our foes into oblivion. These creatures … I have spoken to Sarah Kerrigan. They are responsible for Eden Prime, for the attacks on this Citadel. The destruction of my Void Seeker. I was proud to have you alongside me."

"We didn't volunteer to serve with geth, Prelate," replied Reegar, stepping back. "And frankly … these things are no concern of ours. If you guys are on it, then I pity 'em. You don't need us."

"You spoke to Legion with great frankness," said Zeratul, solidifying Tali's belief that there was no privacy, no secrecy so long as they remained under the protoss's thumb. "While I appreciate the candor you displayed, you refused to listen. Why can't you listen? Have you not seen what such wars of belief can do to a people?"

"Is that why you want the geth and protoss to make amends, Zeratul?" Tali could not remember being so … so tired, and yet so angry. Fed up. _We're feeling the edge of the cage, realizing that we're safe but trapped. It's time for you to let us go._ "To prove to the doubters among your own people that, even after such slaughter, amends can be made? Bridges can be rebuilt? Are my people to be a test run for the Daelaam's own long term success?"

"I do not deny it." Zeratul emerged from the shadows, straightening himself and standing at his full, impressive height. "Yes, I see similarities between our peoples, who became nomads upon being driven from the homeworld, but striving to return. And yet, where we refused to perpetuate the conflict despite being wrongfully persecuted, the Masked Wanderers elected to press for the inevitable bloody conclusion and risk the galaxy in the process. I hoped to show the bigots of the Ara Tribe, the remnants of that much lamented Conclave, that even lesser races could overcome their differences, leaving them with no excuse."

"It's not going to happen," said Tali. Silence fell between them, as the crystals hummed and pulsed with light and energy. "They slaughtered us, Zeratul."

"Tali … we have been friends for many years now. I beg you, reconsider this course of action. Stay with us, within our space, safe and prosperous."

"If you fail and these Reapers come knockin', will we see our deaths coming? Will we be in a place where we can contribute?" Reegar sighed when Zeratul did not answer. "Prelate, we ain't gonna attack the geth. But if you people are really committed to dictatin' everyone's course of action "for their own good," consider our own attitudes towards it a fair warning. You ain't in charge of us."

"No," said Zeratul mournfully, fading away. "No, we are not."

Tali and Kal'Reegar stood there in the black, the crystal that would let them reach Talematros, reach their home, standing before them.

"Tali," said Reegar quietly, "if we're gonna take this offer and open up a line of dialogue with the terrans … secure our freedom … why do I feel sad?"

"We all felt sad the day we left for Pilgrimage, Reegar," said Tali, stepping forward to the crystal and placing her hand atop it. "It's the same principle. This … it's for our own good. And the admirals might always elect to stay."

"No," said Reegar slowly, even as the words of far distant protoss echoed through Tali's mind, directing her to her father, "no, Tali. I think we're gonna be seein' that terran admiral in person real soon."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**

 **A/N: We are nearing a MAJOR series of events in which a bunch of POVs will collide, kind of a halfway point for this story. We're five or six chapters out (have to double check.) Hope you're not all bored.**


	22. Let History Repeat

**Alexei**

"There's another one." Alexei stroked the readout with a single gloved finger, trying to reconcile the nondescript dot with the small turian craft that lay several thousand kilometers away. "Third one in five hours. The bulk of the fleet is approaching. I would give them another two hours."

"And … will it be a cause of concern?" The helmsman shoved a fist in her mouth and coughed, her immaculate glove becoming flecked with spit. Alexei watched with a wrinkled nose. "I mean – what are our standing orders?"

"I have already announced our standing orders," said Alexei, dragging his finger across the screen and letting it fall away, leaving a small smudge. The dot disappeared without fanfare. "Hold. Fight back if attacked. Keep an eye out for the Dominion. The turians change nothing." Alexei puffed out a bit of air, turning in place and looking out over the rest of the CIC. "That being said … yes. Of course the turians are a cause of concern. I suspect the outcome of this war is about to hinge on a few assumptions I have made. They're sending out General Janus."

"Sir?" The helmsman clearly did not know the birds. This made sense. Few were authorized to do so.

"Do not worry about it, Lieutenant." Alexei tapped her on the shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. "You have your orders, and I have mine. Everything is going according to plan." _So far. More or less._

"Vice Admiral Stukov." It was the AI again, calling his name. _Everywhere. It's everywhere._ "Vice Admiral – the _Gagarin_ science team is beginning their tests. I was told to notify you immediately."

"Inbound." Alexei left the CIC without a further word, only adjusting his hat and wiping his brow with a few fingers in the process. His boots rang against the metal of the corridors. Sailors, men and women both, parted at his passing, offering quick salutes in his wake before proceeding about their business. _Good. I value efficiency far more than I do ceremony. One of many areas Gerard and I differ._

The _Gagarin_ science team and the experiments Alexei had assigned them were the reason he had chosen to remain on this vessel for so long, even when it would have been more expedient on several levels to remain aboard his own ship, _Red Baron. What we are looking into here will help turn the greatest strength of the Umojans and protoss into an enormous liability. I am eager to see if our research bears any fruit._

The heavy traffic and slight grime of the main hallways of the cruiser gave way to the parts of the ship that the crew faintly feared, and with good reason. Lingering in these parts of the ship for any reason would be noted by the AI, and in turn the ship's captain. _And the UED takes dim view of loiterers when it comes to matters of military science. Particularly when it is as … experimental … as this._

Coming before the first set of doors, Alexei removed his hat and brought his eyes level with the optical scanner, pressing his right thumb into a print scanner simultaneously. The door opened with nary a sound.

 _Pristine. Immaculate._ The labs looked resplendent in their gleaming white surfaces, as sterile and as beautiful as the salt flats back on Earth. _Nothing out of place._ The two guards posted to either side of the other side of the door saluted as Alexei walked past, ramming his hat back on to his head. _Omega labs._

Alexei crossed the threshold to the lab area and noted as the faint sounds beyond the door cut off as it slid shut. _Soundproofed, and with good reason._ A small team of ladies and gentlemen in lab coats stood before a two way mirror, beyond which sat a colonial, bound and gagged.

"Vice Admiral." Despite many of them otherwise being busy on their own PDAs, they all saluted as one. Alexei waved it off.

"Explain, then begin. The turians are due to arrive soon."

"Well, we have definitely succeeded in recognizing certain patterns of psionic energy," said the foremost egghead, a very nervous looking woman who kept glancing back towards the subject in the chair. "These uh, _psi_ particles are essentially dark energy. We can't pick up what they are and how they behave without the presence of a psionic at least 4 on the scale. There weren't very many opportunities for that back on Earth. But here, we've picked up a handful of Dominion ghosts, such as the one before you."

"We also recovered two khaydarin crystals from back on Braxis," murmured a husky voiced scientist from the furthest corner, leaning against a wall and surveying his fellows with distaste. "They channel and amplify psionic energy; makes sense that the protoss would use them as much as they apparently do. In the presence of yonder ghost, we got some very interesting readings indeed."

"We looked back to some of the old _Project Palpatine_ records from back in the early '70s," continued the woman who had first spoken. "You know … the experiments involving psionic amplifiers. Ultimately discontinued for breach of Purity laws. Modifying the human form to an unacceptable degree. Still, the schematics were never destroyed, and it looks like you ordered a copy of them brought along."

"I wanted to compare them to some of the colonial implants." Alexei gestured towards the captured ghost. "I imagine he has a few."

"They're pretty dissimilar," said the husky voiced bastard. Alexei glanced at his name tag. _Schrader._ Dr. Schrader raised an eyebrow in his direction before continuing. "The _Palpatine_ models wanted to amplify minute amounts of psionic energy found in otherwise unremarkable soldiers. Went to some pretty dangerous lengths to get those results." He pointed. "What that fellow has in his skull is just as much about protecting him from his own inherent abilities as it is channeling them. The colonials are a step above us, if the evolution of humanity is to be dictated by psionic progress."

"I am unsurprised," said Alexei, shrugging. This drew shock from the scientists, who apparently had expected some manner of outrage. But Alexei only chuckled. "What? It was obvious that this would happen. Evolutionary divergence based on differing environments, coupled with the widespread culling of genetic aberrants and our continued practice of routine eugenics. The "terran" people, as they prefer to be called, are walking down an uncontrolled avenue of evolution." Alexei smiled. "But if they were truly superior, then they would be able to repel our invasion. Thus far, they have not. Continue, please."

"We looked into the downsides of sensitivity," said Schrader, matching Alexei's smile. "Psionic feedback. Whatever these particles are, they get increasingly … excitable … when forced together at high speeds. Curiously, they are for the most part harmless to non-psionics, at least, on the wavelength we're using. But … note the nose bleed?" Schrader pointed. "We're getting a reaction."

"I would like to see this."

At his words, a scientist in a hazard suit wheeled out a small table, atop which sat a crystal with all manner of wires and metal strips sticking from it, almost making it look like they had constructed some torturous helmet for the mineral. Alexei watched with folded arms as the ghost twitched and recoiled from the device, shaking his head vigorously. The scientist turned and flashed a thumbs up.

"Begin."

Schrader stepped from his position and tapped a button, broadcasting into the testing area.

"First level!"

The suited scientist turned a knob. The ghost writhed and struggled in apparent pain, and Alexei swept aside two of the people in front of him with a gentle movement of his arm, trying to get a better view. The ghost jerked and twitched, and the scientist turned the knob.

"You can observe some bleeding from the ears and nose," reported Dr. Schrader dispassionately. "We even managed to coax an answer from the colonial when we asked him to rate his pain on a one to ten scale. Seven. Impressive for the weakest frequency we have."

"Next level," said Alexei, intent on the ghost's face. Schrader smiled and instructed the scientist inside to get on it. This time, the air distorted faintly. The motions of the ghost, previously violent yet somewhat controlled, gave way to wild thrashing.

While some of the others shrunk back at the mad movements of the subject in the chair, Alexei only drew closer, fascinated by the device they had created, by the effects it had even on a mediocre ghost. When Schrader ordered the device deactivated, Alexei had to suppress a stab of annoyance.

"Now we have some bleeding from the eyes," reported the doctor, smile gone, replaced by determination. "Subject appears exhausted and has suffered immense pain. Still conscious, however. These colonial psionics are tough sons of bitches. Readings indicate that his implants are overheating – neural inhibitors are basically shot. We'll lose the specimen if we do anything more.

"Next level." Alexei rounded on the people behind him as he heard gasps, murmuring. "What? This is to be our weapon against the protoss, against the deadliest of the Umojans. They are holding psionics above our heads because we are tethered by our mundanity. I need an absolute guarantee of the lethality of this device."

"With all due respect, Vice Admiral," Schrader began, falling backwards as Alexei fixed him with a withering glare. "Er … subduing ghosts is a task of immense difficulty. We do not have many specimens to go through, and it is unlikely that they will become any less scarce. The subject is bleeding from nearly all available orifices, indicating pretty severe neurological damage. I think we can be assured of this weapon's lethality."

"Can we be assured of its safety to those who are not psionic?" Alexei raised his eyebrows as Schrader failed to provide an answer. "No. And if we cannot prove its safety to the bulk of the UED's citizens, then the weapon is useless to us. Is our man inside feeling any discomfort?"

"Woman," said Schrader hesitantly, but nevertheless he pressed the button and asked the question. He received a negative.

"Then I want the next level, not that I should have to explain myself," said Alexei, keeping his voice polite yet icy. All trace of smugness had now vanished from the good doctor's demeanor, and his voice shook slightly as he told the woman inside what to do. The woman, for her part, followed the order without hesitation, turning the dial promptly.

This time, Alexei grimaced as the air rippled, churning with energy. A high pitched whining seemed to fill his head, and his body and mind alike suddenly felt alive with fear, afire with animal impulses to retreat from this threat to his wellbeing. He simply gritted his teeth and weathered it, all the while keeping his quivering eyes locked with the specimen in his chair.

It was clear that he was screaming. No sound pierced the barrier, but by the way his mouth opened louder and louder, a great undulating hole of soundless agony, Alexei had no doubt in his mind that a horrible cacophony filled that chamber. The ghost shook as if pulled by unseen ropes, his arms jerking against the restraints with terrible force. With a lurch, one socket pulled free. Then the other. His movements now resembled nothing human, twisting and turning in place, blood and sweat running from his head in a disgusting froth, his limbs shaking and heaving as if directed by some drunken puppeteer.

Alexei, eyes watering, leaned against the console before him, almost pressing his face to the glass. For a moment, their eyes met; his, bloodshot and blood covered; Alexei's, pained yet calculating. Then – red blossomed from the subject's skull.

"Holy shit!"

The glass spattered with the familiar dark red and chunks of what looked like mashed raspberries. Shards of skull tapped against the crimson tapestry like gruesome shrapnel, and Alexei, after a moment of staring at what he had wrought, removed his hands from the console and straightened, satisfied at the weapon at his disposal. As an afterthought, he wiped the blood from his own nose before turning to face his horrified audience.

"Is our woman inside safe?" asked Alexei, drawing the terrified gaze of everyone in the room, all of whom seemed to be questioning his sanity. _Because I am not some mewling hypocrite who becomes squeamish when his experiments need just that extra push to be considered worthwhile by the people who matter._ Schrader was now busy gagging in a corner and no one else seemed willing to step any closer to the outcome of their work, so Alexei took charge. He pressed the button, hard.

"Report – are you unharmed?" Only screams greeted him back. Alexei, rapidly losing his patience, rammed the button again. "Calm yourself immediately! Are you physically harmed in any fashion? Are you in any pain?"

"N- no!" The woman managed to choke back, prompting a nod of satisfaction from Alexei. He turned back to his cowering companions.

"It appears we have a functioning prototype. Don't all applaud at once." Alexei turned to look back one last time at the screen of red. _Yes. It will do._ "Kindly make sure our volunteer gets a thorough amount of time in the decontamination shower. There is no knowing what manner of diseases the colonial had stored inside him."

Alexei left them there, mind racing, knuckles glancing against his lip to remove another small trickle of blood. _Potent. Very potent. If anything – worryingly so. I don't believe anyone rating 3 on the scale such as myself would be a threat, so we may have to tone it down slightly. But it should be exponentially more effective the stronger the psionic an individual is … hmm. We may be able to finally find a way to match the protoss._

There were problems of course, the most obvious being the lack of khaydarin crystals at their disposal. But they could wait. At this moment, Alexei indulged in that steady sense of relief, that fading of stress that came with the beginnings of a solution to a particularly vexing problem. _And they grow no more vexing than the protoss._

"EDI – any word on turian fleet movements?" snapped Alexei, shaking himself from his reverie.

"Three more recon vessels have been sighted since you adjourned to the labs, Vice Admiral." Alexei might have been mistaken, but he thought he detected a hint of … disgust? Disdain? _Something_ in the AI's voice. "Intel suggests they will be here in half an hour or less. Do you have any orders?"

"Get me a shuttle back to _Red Baron_." Alexei wiped the blood from his knuckles against his pants leg. "Inform the helmsman that once I'm aboard, they are to shift closer to the anticipated jump location of the coming turian fleet. Once in position, determine coordinates for a jump past their position, in the direction of Char. If things go badly, I do not intend to die with so much yet for the Armada to accomplish."

"At once, Vice Admiral."

Alexei did not speak to the shuttle pilot as he boarded, instead brooding on the innumerable number of things left to do, even with an answer finally in sight in regards to the lingering question of the protoss. _We finally have samples of omnigel, and Visily believed he could reprogram the basic nanites to accomplish some truly miraculous things… I must check whether they have had any success once I reach my cabin._

 _I still need to repay that bastard Illusive Man for that business with the elcor. At least Raynor's Raiders have proven themselves capable, given their success on Moria. EDI should have that hard drive fully decrypted any day now…_

It became soothing, after a while, to go over any and every problem, potential or otherwise, that besieged or threatened to besiege the Armada, and coming up with a solution or at least a next step for all of them.

 _Nothing is insurmountable. It just takes time, mindfulness, and as many pairs of hands as possible. We are not glorified ants like the zerg, nor are we as mind-bendingly powerful as the protoss … disciplined as the turians … ingenuous as the salarians … but we are capable enough not to shame ourselves. And we are determined. We are ambitious. We will take the galaxy, because the galaxy would never believe it possible for us to do so. Our vision remains unclouded by the blinding "reality" that other sapients cling to. Nothing is impossible, if all means are justified in pursuit of the end._

The shuttle docked without much fuss, and Alexei offered a murmured thanks to the pilot. He proceeded to the bridge with less haste than usual, his meeting with the turians almost seeming a simple formality in comparison to the enormous implications he had borne witness to but a few minutes before.

 _It is just a prototype. There is still much to do. Calm down._

The bridge quieted as Alexei entered it, but even so, some anxious murmuring persisted in the corners. _They fear the birds._ Alexei could not blame them. All intel pointed towards the turians possessing enough ships to take up suicide ramming as an acceptable tactic, and still have enough vessels left over to blot out a sun or three. They represented an enormous, if mundane and somewhat predictable, threat.

 _But they sent Janus, didn't they? The Primarch ordered Janus out here in particular. And I think that sends a very careful and deliberate message. It would be one thing to send out Desolas. If he had done that, we would have had to abandon our pursuit of Korhal and begin drawing up a battle line all across the Koprulu Sector. Desolas is bad news. But Janus … Janus remembers the Great War all too well, doesn't he, Primarch?_

"We're getting something," called out a technician. Alexei watched the readout flash … and then fill up with a predictably demoralizing number of ship signatures. While technicians shouted at one another in dismay and ran back and forth, aimless and confused like the chickens from back home, Alexei only straightened and put his hands behind his back.

"Open up hailing frequencies," he called out, expecting no delay. Unlike Dr. Schrader, the technicians did not fail him. Nor did the turians, oddly enough. Within moments, a shiver crept up Alexei's back as a strange, echoing voice resounded through the bridge.

"All terran vessels, this is General Janus of the Turian Hierarchy. Power down all weapons and barriers if you have them. You have only one chance at surrender. You are guilty of violating Council space and attacking a Council member. Power down your weapons systems at once and surrender. Do you understand me?"

"General Janus," called back Alexei, heart speeding up despite himself, lips suddenly feeling dry despite his mind remaining relatively free of anxiety. "This is Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate. We expected the intervention of the Hierarchy, if perhaps in not so many numbers. I regret to inform you that you are trespassing in human airspace, and that the Council has no right to intercede in matters of human supremacy. These colonies have unlawfully seceded from their homeworld, and must be brought in line. Any alliances they have made with other sovereign nations cannot be considered legitimate." Alexei paused momentarily, licking his lips. There was no response from the other side. _Do … do our translators work? They are so new …_ "Do you understand me?"

"I long ago lost all patience with the terran people, Vice Admiral," replied General Janus, sounding as if all the world were pressing down on his fragile alien shoulders. "We suffered greatly for your people during the Great War, and here we are now, being asked to do so again. And, yet again, the terrans make demands and assertions they have no right to make, setting expectations they themselves have no intention of meeting. I will ask you again, Vice Admiral, power down your weapons systems or be prepared to suffer my full displeasure."

"You are willing to spend yet more turian lives in this distant frontier when your home crawls with salarian agents?" asked Alexei, heart now fully hammering, jumping into his throat. He had heard no trace of uncertainty in Janus's voice, and did not relish notifying Gerard of a belligerent turian fleet being set loose into Dominion space. "General – we are men of action, not words. Let us be honest with ourselves. If both of us believed that conflict were to be the only outcome here, we would have opened fire on one another the moment you jumped into this system. I can see the message your Primarch is sending, General. He does not intend for us to come to blows here, not with the political situation being what it is."

"There is no political situation, Stukov." Janus sounded exhausted, dragging out his words. "There is only our two fleets standing before one another, guns primed. Surrender, or I will be forced to fire."

 _They brought four dreadnoughts. That is far too much to handle._ Alexei looked away from his microphone for a moment, thinking. _There has to be some way to leverage a different outcome, the desired outcome, the one where the turians rightfully abandon Mengsk and his idiotic Dominion to actually defend something worthwhile, instead._

"We are aware of the events over Tarsonis, General," said Alexei slowly. "We watched in horror from our homeworld as Mengsk committed the greatest act of treachery and butchery in known history. Billions dead, innocents. Your fleet fed to the zerg. And what was Mengsk's punishment? To be crowned emperor, to acquire a Council seat, to secure the aid of the Hierarchy in the face of a new aggressor … a righteous aggressor … the men and women of the United Earth Directorate." Alexei paused, and Janus did not respond. _He wants me to continue. Well … perhaps want is the wrong word._

"Here we are, prepared to finally inflict a fitting fate to the false emperor, and thus far doing an excellent job, and yet you are sent forth to do the man's bidding against your wishes, yet again. But why you? Why would Primarch Fedorian send forth a general with such a grudge against the colonials, and against Mengsk in particular, when he could have sent someone with both better credentials and less chance of succumbing to … a lack of enthusiasm? Where is General Desolas? Petrus? Where is General Corinthus? All of them served with just as much distinction as yourself in the Great War, and have a considerably greater degree of … professionalism … when it comes to "terrans." General, you do not want to be here. And the Primarch does not want you here, either."

The General was still silent. The entire bridge had fallen silent, for that matter. But the turians did not advance. They did not open fire. There was only the quiet, the judgment.

"I am struggling to process just how much the supposedly distant and disinterested homeworld of the terran people knows so much about this galaxy," said Janus, making Alexei breathe a sigh of relief. _He's talking, and it's not about surrender. I have this. I have this._ "Nevertheless, I must acknowledge your points. Yes, you are correct. I do not want to be here. And the Primarch pointedly issued peculiar orders. I was told to repel any "unlawful" invaders. Very specific. I was expecting the standard orders, "protect Council space from x threat." Usually issued when the Terminus Systems grows a spine. And yet, I was told to repel any unlawful invaders."

"A long time ago, your people engaged in what I believe were called, the Unification Wars." Alexei breathed slowly, trying to calm himself down. _Almost there._ "A war between Palaven and her colonies, determining the right of the homeworld to rule over the far distant planets she had settled. Your Hierarchy emerged victorious; the colonies were to pay homage to their homeworld even if they never saw it. This is our Unification War. The colonials have grown fat off stolen lands, grown prosperous while the homeworld looked on with hungry eyes. It is time these colonials paid both for their arrogance and their wanton cruelty to one another, and to the other inhabitants of this galaxy. The UED … we are your vengeance. You cannot strike against Mengsk, but we can. If you will only stand aside, and let ancient history repeat itself."

"You would claim these planets in the name of your homeworld?" Janus sighed, a curious sound from an alien creature. Alexei held his own breath. "I am so … so very tired of your race, Vice Admiral Stukov. You take turns between being belligerent brutes, keen on caving in the skulls of any and all enemies you come across, and manipulative bastards, intent on letting others do all of the fighting. Which is it now? Will I regret this decision in the months and years to come, as my people bleed?"

"Your people will bleed now, for certain, if you press onward." Alexei made sure to sound sympathetic, not threatening. "Is it for a worthy cause? Will the Primarch truly fault you for following orders to the letter? Particularly with so much to gain?"

The other end went silent once again. Someone coughed in the back of the bridge, a furtive, embarrassed sound. Alexei rapped his knuckles against the console, sighing. He waited. And waited.

"You are not my enemy," said Janus, finally. "You are my reward. Finish this, Vice Admiral. Bring overdue justice to that … _emperor_ , and redeem your species. I will return to Palaven and brace for the Second Great War. Perhaps I will meet my end against the salarians, and perhaps a mistake was made here this day … but I will sacrifice not a single further turian life for the sake of that monster. Unify your species, Stukov. And see that Mengsk hangs."

 _And so it is._

The ships vanished from the readout, beginning that long journey back to the relay, back home to their gleaming world. Muffled cheers erupted from the crew, but Alexei only pressed his fingers to his temples, took another long, deep breath.

"Notify UEN," he said, quieting the crew. "EDI. Notify UEN that the Council forces have retreated, citing the rightness of our cause and the moral bankruptcy of the Dominion. Notify … notify Vice Admiral Ahern that the Umojan border is now open to attack. There will be no reprisal. Send word to Gerard…"

Alexei coughed, and brought his fist to his mouth. When he took it away, a few drops of blood clung to his glove. "We must secure the Relay. Mengsk will pull everything back to the core worlds. Make ready for Korhal, this sector is ours. Prepare to recall the Raiders, as promised. We're not there yet, but the end is finally in sight."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: David**


	23. On Genetics

" _Fighting continues throughout the sector as Directorate forces press onward towards the Dominion core worlds. With Tyrador and Dylar now fully under Directorate control, recruiting drives and resocialization rehabilitation are now underway on those planets._

 _In other news, the Turian Hierarchy, answering Mengsk's call for Council assistance, has recently turned back to their space, heeding the suggestion of Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. The turian general in command of the fleet, one General Janus, cited personal hatred of Mengsk and a profound disinterest in the fate of the Dominion and its people._

 _As the list of the false emperor's "friends" grows shorter and shorter, Dominion fleets find themselves pulled back to defend Korhal and Halcyon from probing Directorate scouts, aware that no reinforcements will be forthcoming._

 _Word from the Morian line is that Warfield has redoubled his efforts to push for their capital planet and refuses to abandon the fight there in fear of a combined KMC and batarian push for Augustgrad. The fighting grows ever heavier and the number of civilian and military casualties on both sides is estimated to be well in the millions._

 _This has been Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani from UEN, reporting to you live from the Koprulu Sector."_

 **David**

David had been certain that maintaining discipline would be the greatest challenge while remaining onboard a colonial ship. The colonials, he remembered from his lessons, were a ramshackle people, used to applying square pegs to round holes and duct taping the resulting mess together. They approached every problem with a kind of admirable ingenuity coupled with deplorable ignorance. It said something that the cultural anthropologist that ran classes for Armada officers had noted, with a straight face, that colonials seemed to possess an inbred obsession for creating and congregating at industrial facilities … and drinking establishments. _Always the first buildings to spring up in a new settlement, he said._

So it was with a stern face that David commanded the Normandy crew to treat the colonials with respect, but to tolerate absolutely no drunken nonsense. For the most part, things had worked out well; his own people only left the ship for chow or the occasional drink in the Norad II bar. Today, however, Williams had suggested to him that perhaps making use of the Norad II's exercise facilities was in order, something David could not personally admit was a bad idea. The facilities on the Normandy were small and lacking in equipment, a fact not helped by Jenkins' propensity for somehow breaking whatever he worked with.

Knowing the colonials' genetic propensity for lacking discipline, David had actually expected the facilities to be empty. He was wrong, and now he was paying the price.

"For the last fucking time," bellowed Williams at the hairy colonial midget, Swann, "we are not listening to " _Sweet Home_ Fucking _Alabama_ " again, and no, _Lynyrd Skynyrd_ is _not_ classic rock!" The rest of the gym watched the action quietly while David racked his own bar and rose, taking care not to crack his head on the way up.

"What? You tellin' me it didn't form the basis of modern music where you came from?" Swann snorted. "No wonder you Earth people are so miserable. For you, it's all horns, trumpets, and violins. Forgive me for likin' something that doesn't sound like it was made only for military parades."

"This is a musical travesty," growled Williams before stomping back to her corner, where she had Jenkins doing burpees until "she no longer felt ashamed to share the same species as him." Swann lingered near the small sound system they had set up for a few moments before thinking better of it. He returned to his own position and began stacking 45lb weights on his own bar, occasionally issuing a pointed look at David.

"These colonials are all jacked," said Shepard, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. "The fighting ones, anyway. Think any of them come from higher gravity environments?"

"Some, I think." The dwarf grunted as he benched a bar stacked with weights the collectively weighed five times more than he did, his mechanical and unmodified arms holding impressively steady.

"They're all taller than us, too," said Shepard, making David look up. "Other than the obvious exception, I mean. Take a look around you. It's the healthier diets, I think. More resources to work with. We've really been locked in on Earth, haven't we?"

"Not anymore," said David, finally losing all interest in any further physical activity. He stood from his bench and began unloading weights, trying to ignore the fresh development behind him as Lieutenant Alenko tried, at length, to explain to the hairless ape known as Tychus Findlay that yes, fiddles and violins were in fact the same instrument. David turned to Shepard before casting a quick, disgusted look at the colonial with her asari girlfriend, doing squats on the other side of the room. "And for all their health, they really don't seem to have the greatest grasp of dentistry." _This is enough colonial culture for one day._

To make use of the colonial showers was unthinkable, so David began the long (or at least longer than he would have liked) trip back to his ship, his bare arms slightly slick with sweat. As he left the room, the now all-too-familiar opening chords of _Sweet Home Alabama_ echoed after him, followed by a series of muffled curses from the enraged Gunnery Chief.

Deciding quickly not to get involved in the affairs of marines and their music choices, David descended the steps before him and rounded the corner, running almost headlong into the person coming down it.

"Sorry," said David, unwilling to let go of his manners even in the face of the degraded peoples he now worked with. The other captain smiled back.

"I think we've only spoken once or twice, and not in person," he said, sticking out his hand. "Matt Horner. Captain of this vessel, even if Jim's the head of the Raiders. Captain Anderson, right?"

"Commodore," said Anderson. "While I'm on your ship, I'm Commodore Anderson." _Ship captaincy is, of course, sacred._

"Right. Commodore." This seemed to please Horner, and David could not quite figure out why. _Does he enjoy holding authority over me?_ The man's outfit seemed to suggest it; he maintained himself impeccably, not a speck of dust to be found anywhere on his Confederate officer's uniform. To David's knowledge, he was one of the few Raiders he had seen who actually bothered to maintain any semblance of military bearing. _Perhaps that's it. He appreciates someone else with discipline and personal hygiene._

"The UED certainly keeps themselves structured," said Horner, making David internally bemoan having stayed behind to apologize for running into him. "I understand you are keeping your people on a regular schedule, complete with exercise and regular medical exams. I wish I could convince my own people to do the same, but Jim … doesn't make it easy."

"This is your ship; they should be following your orders." It seemed simple enough to David. _Being a paramilitary organization is no excuse for slacking._

"We are all members of Raynor's Raiders, not … Matt's Marauders." Horner smiled. "Jim values personal freedoms, and our people aren't spending every night getting drunk or getting into fights. They just … don't see the need to control themselves to the degree that perhaps I would like. It hasn't slowed any of our operations down, at the very least."

 _No. I suppose it hasn't._ Only one Raider had participated in the heist on Moria, but by all accounts, Tychus had acquitted himself surprisingly well. _Although, the true surprise was in Jenkins. I can never figure out what's going through that boy's head._

"Commodore Anderson, I was wondering…" Horner looked around, licked his lips. David watched with only the faintest interest. "I had an idea, a while back. I thought perhaps we could have dinner together … speak to one another as captain to captain. I admit to some curiosity regarding what Earth is here … what you're all up to … and I imagine you would have some questions for me as well. And I am more than happy to answer them."

 _On the one hand, no. On the other hand, I am sick of eating the same slop as the rest of the Raiders in the mess hall, and I have a feeling he might break out the wine…_

"Certainly, Captain," said David, smiling warmly and shaking his counterpart's hand, grimacing as he realized how sweaty his palms were. "When would be best for you?"

"Given that we reach Korlus tomorrow … I was thinking perhaps tonight?" Matt chuckled. "I mean, I doubt anything will go wrong on your op, but I'd really rather do this before you start tackling hungry krogan. Just in case. Six o'clock ship time. Would that work?"

"Yes, I think that would work," said David, smiling and actually meaning it this time. He shook the captain's hand again before continuing his journey back to his current home, the ship within a ship.

"Yeoman Chambers has completed her report, Captain," said the AI as he crossed the threshold, her voice making his skin crawl. "Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov has also requested an update, although he stressed that it was of low importance for the current moment."

"I'll get to it," grunted David, unsurprised to find the redheaded woman waiting for him just past the airlock. "So? Any problems?"

"Nothing beyond some slight anger problems with the Chief and our illustrious pilot, and a few emotional issues for the Commander." Chambers smiled brightly up at him. "Plus the obvious survivor's guilt from the moon escapades. I don't think we'll have any problems." She adopted a concerned face next, making David resist the urge to roll his eyes. "How do you feel? Still homesick?"

David ignored the question. "Just write a report and send it to me. If any of us suffered from truly crippling mental ailments, we wouldn't have been sent out here." _Well, except for Captain Leng. But his mental ailments are considered assets._ He made to move past the yeoman, only to be stopped as she stepped forward.

"I would like to offer my services to the Norad II crew," said Chambers. "Aside from the historic opportunity to finally work with humans not of Earth, I believe that a great many of them could use the help. Raynor for instance-"

"Do you believe there is any risk?" asked David. Chambers only shook her head, smiling brightly. "Then just be careful. And I don't care how many damn oaths you took, you find out something worthwhile about any of these colonials, you tell me immediately. If you find that difficult, bear in mind that their humanity is in question, and they are technically unprotected by whatever code of ethics you follow. Understand?"

The yeoman hesitated before nodding without much enthusiasm. David dismissed her with a hand gesture. _I'll find a way to make you useful, yet._

Despite the AI insisting that meeting with Stukov was of "low priority," David knew better than to leave the man waiting a second longer than necessary. _And professional respect demands that I speak to him as soon as possible anyway._ He marched through the cramped metal hallways as quickly as possible, heading for the QEC with a shuddering heart. He was stopped in front of the door.

"Captain," said Duran, smiling widely at David, making his skin crawl once more. He had yet to catch the ghost out of his powered armor, although he had apparently been stripped of it when initially captured. _It's funny, I can't imagine him without it._ Despite the Lieutenant's exemplary service thus far, David could not help but feel … unnerved … by his continued presence. The fact that Duran seemed so oblivious to how the rest of his squad felt did not help matters.

The ghost clutched a datapad in his gloved hands. He presented it meekly to David, who took it as if it were an explosive that could go off at any second if mishandled.

"While I no longer serve the gentleman you know as the Illusive Man, he still sees fit to entrust me with valuable information every now and again." Duran bowed his head. "It is a copy of the data he sent to Vice Admiral Stukov regarding what we know of the Reapers. Our mutual friend thought you might find it worthwhile to peruse, perhaps share with others as you see fit."

David examined the datapad carefully. When he activated, a diagram of a massive, nautilus-like ship came up. _It appears legitimate._

"Do I have clearance for this?" asked David, shutting off the datapad. "I imagine if I were supposed to see this information, it would have been sent to me."

"The Illusive Man and I are of the mind that anybody and everybody should be aware of the potential scope of this threat." Duran bowed his head again. "While the Directorate has proven itself an able adversary for local powers, these beings are something else entirely. It is my personal hope that following the fall of Mengsk, the UED will make it their top priority to deal with this ongoing threat."

"You work for us now, Duran," said David, slipping the datapad into his pocket. "How did he send this information?"

"Secure channel," replied Duran, smile becoming even wider, if anything. "I would be happy to write a report on it … Captain. I just hope that you will take the data on that device seriously."

"Write the report, and cease all unmonitored communications. Dismissed."

"Of course … Captain." Duran offered a quick salute before slipping past David, apparently bound for Norad II. David watched him leave with no small amount of anxiety. _Probably best to mention this to Stukov … he seemed just as concerned as I did with the man's behavior._

The conference room was as cramped as ever, although with only himself present, at least it was quiet. David sat with a quiet sigh, feeling the aches and pains all over his body, the patches of uneasy muscle he had targeted with his exercise. _Make sure to roll out … should be fine for tomorrow. A bit of pain is better than feeling fat and lazy._ Rolling out his neck, he stood and activated the QEC, letting the other end know that he was ready. It took several minutes for Stukov to respond.

"Captain," he said in greeting, his glimmering form offering a nod. "I see you have been keeping yourself busy."

It occurred to David that perhaps it might have been appropriate to redress himself in his officer blues. He shifted his feet and met Stukov's gaze, snapping a salute.

"Forgive the informal attire, sir, my understanding is that you prefer your subordinates to be prompt in responding to your requests for communication."

"I am not Gerard, good Captain," Stukov said with a light chuckle. "He would, perhaps, not be so understanding, but we can scarcely blame him for that, can we? The entirety of the Armada answers to him, and the minute he appears lax on discipline … well. It has never been his way. But you may rest easy, Captain; I appreciate the promptness."

"Thank you, sir." David tried to make his sigh of relief as inaudible as possible. "Little has changed since Moria. Our jump through the Waygate went without any difficulty, and we are swiftly approaching Korlus. I have been keeping the Normandy crew as separate as possible from the colonials and aliens, and I am told that Commander Shepard recently sent a report on the Raiders as a whole."

"That she did," said Stukov, smiling and nodding. "Have you been keeping up to date with UEN?"

"It's practically all that plays in the Norad II pub," said David, trying to contain his discomfort. "The colonials … have mixed feelings on our advance. The aliens, oddly enough, have all remained fairly enthusiastic. Did you truly convince the turians to retreat?"

"Do you have any reason to doubt Miss al-Jilani?" Stukov laughed openly at this, but quickly suppressed himself. "Hum. Yes, Captain, using my knowledge of General Janus's history and the Hierarchy's political situation, I convinced him to return to Palaven for our mutual benefit. This has bumped up our timetable for taking Korhal. Once you have retrieved the krogan doctor, I will need you to return to the Armada."

"Really?" David felt a stab of relief at this. "I will notify the Norad II captain at dinner."

"At dinner?" Stukov's eyebrows disappeared under his cap. "Well … it is nice to hear that you have all been getting along, at least. Since when have you taken up having dinner with the colonial captain?"

"He offered just now, sir." David licked his lips, suddenly very uncomfortable under Stukov's gaze, even as the Vice Admiral simply smiled at him. "I thought it would be a good way to uncover less obvious information on the Raiders and colonials as a whole, sir. In vino veritas."

"If you say so, Captain." Stukov's smile was beginning to remind David of Duran. "At any rate, that was the main event, so to speak. Once Okeer is detained, return to the Armada promptly. I promised Mr. Raynor that he would be among the first to drop on Korhal, as well as the one to execute Mengsk. I do not intend to renege on our agreement. So … do be kind and let the good Captain Horner in on what is going on. Is the rest of your squad faring well?"

"They are in tip top shape, sir," replied David. _With the possible exception of myself. The wound keeps waking me up at night._ "Has the adjutant data decrypted?"

"Soon enough, Captain." Stukov tipped his hat. "That is all. I will notify Gerard of your recovery; he was rather worried for your wellbeing. He seemed convinced that the colonials would try to treat your injury with leeches if you did not improve, despite my best attempts to convince him otherwise. At any rate … good hunting and a speedy return, Captain."

"One other thing, Vice Admiral." Stukov waited patiently while David fidgeted. "It's about Lieutenant Duran. He is still in contact with the Illusive Man, and he provided me with a datapad with, uh, information on the Reaper threat."

"Lieutenant Duran and our good Illusive Man continue to work behind our backs on some hidden agenda?" Stukov said with a tone of mock shock. He shook his head. "How utterly unforeseen. Thank you for informing me, Captain, but if it is the same data they sent me a short time ago, I am perfectly happy if you have a copy. I was planning to distribute it to all the higher officer anyway. Will that be all?" David nodded. "Good. Then continue to keep a close eye on the ghost … and enjoy your dinner. The future awaits us. Stukov out."

The Vice Admiral winked out, leaving David to wipe the sweat from his forehead and prepare himself for his dinner with Horner, which he now rather regretted. _Using the colonial gym was a mistake. We're just too different … and now the Vice Admiral may very well suspect me as some kind of sympathizer._ David left the darkened conference room, shaking his head. _The food better be fucking incredible._

David retired to his quarters and took a long shower, trying not to look at the ghastly and barely healed scar on his lower abdomen all the while. By the time he exited it, the room had filled with steam and his watch helpfully informed him that he had a half-hour to ready himself for his dinner. After briefly contemplating simply showing up in relax wear (after all, to a colonial that would probably the equivalent of a nice suit) he shrugged, and instead prepared himself as if he were dining with another UED captain. Captaincy was, of course, sacred. _I would probably do the same if I was even dining with a turian captain._ Certain concepts should be respected regardless of the circumstances.

"Captain Horner waits for you outside the ship, Captain," said the AI, making David close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"Commodore, EDI," said David, finishing with his last button and studying himself in the mirror. "On the Normandy, I am the captain, and Horner is a commodore. It reverses when I step foot on his ship."

"Statement acknowledged. Setting new greeting parameters."

"Notify the rest of the crew that I am dining with Horner tonight," said David. He exited his room, confident that he represented an appropriate degree of decorum. "In case they wonder where I am."

When David exited the airlock, it was to find his fellow captain standing there, having donned an even fresher set of slightly faded Confederate blues. Horner smiled and extended his hand, which David shook with what he hoped was reassuring strength.

"Captain," said David. He gestured forward. "I will follow you."

"This is the first time I've had a chance to speak to an Earther personally," said Horner as he led the way. "I, uh, hope that isn't an offensive term. Is it?"

"It's about as appropriate as "colonial" or "terran," said David, shrugging. _Sooner or later, though, the term "human" will have to suffice as a blanket definition._

The Norad II captain's quarters were closer than David had expected. It took only a short march through the corridors, rounding but a single corner, and they faced a far more ornate door than any other David had seen on Norad II.

"These used to be General Duke's quarters," said Horner with a small nervous laugh. "Jim used them for a while, but he surrendered them the minute he surrendered official captainship. It's a little strange to think about, isn't it?" The doors slid open with nary a sound; Horner's impeccability extended to the very quarters he kept.

"General Duke slept in here?" David shook his head after entering. It was hard to picture, not least because Horner kept a much tidier set of quarters than he suspected Duke would. _Plus, Horner hasn't mounted any animal heads over the mantle or anything like that._ Indeed … David could find nothing to criticize, nothing to make him shake his head and mutter, "Bloody colonials," or anything of that nature. The table looked neat, set with chairs on either end, a set of plates, cutlery, cups … beyond it, the bed had been made, no clutter decorated the floor, and the few medals and certificates that decorated the walls were neither gaudy nor out of place. Soft piano music emanated from a well-polished wooden record player, a far cry from the hick nonsense David had heard in the gym earlier. _It is … about what I would have expected out of say, DuGalle or Stukov's quarters._

"I know, hard to believe." Matt smiled widely at him, and they sat down at either end of the table. David found himself politely surprised as Matt offered him the wine bottle first. _Polite._ David poured for himself and handed it back.

"Nothing too special, I'm afraid." Matt pulled the covers off of some of the plates. "I managed to procure some steaks and greens from Agria … good quality, but uh, not the most expensive. No idea how it will match up to Earth cuisine."

David politely took a slice along with some of the green beans. To be frank, it reminded him of some of his brief stays in the U.S. From what he recalled, a good portion of the prisoners aboard Nagglfar had been American, and much of the ensuing Confederacy had been influenced as a result. _The Umojans came from all over, as I recall, with a slim majority from Asian nations, while the KMC's Argo had been a mix of Eastern European and African…_

"It's good," said David after a few moments of chewing. Matt nodded and smiled, and began taking his own food.

"I've been keeping careful track of UED progress in the sector," said Matt as he speared a slice of steak and brought it to his plate. "And I don't just mean the UEN reports … I mean the extranet as well. You've got the attention of the Umojans and asari, and I'm not sure they like what they see. The Dominion was at least predictable in their eyes."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." _By which of course, I mean we'll be blockading our end of the relay while we take the Umojans out._

"Right. Of course." Matt was not eating, instead swirling the wine inside of his glass. "Just … I'm at a bridge myself. You know I'm from Tyrador, right?"

"A core world. I saw it on the … news." David felt a slight chill as Matt nodded again, this time without any cheer whatsoever. _We just took it. This dinner … just became a little less pleasant._

"My parents still live there. I think." Matt swirled the wine again before setting it down. "All communications are down. I can't get in touch with anybody on the extranet … I'm worried. I'm worried that I don't know enough about the UED and their intentions. Am I harboring the next iteration of the Confederacy on my ship? The murderers of my parents?" He looked David right in the eye.

"I shouldn't think so." David put down his own fork and knife and leaned forward, placing his wrists on the table. "Listen … Captain. We have little interest in simple killing. Every colonial we kill now is one less we can use to secure the borders later. Every colonial we kill now is another family enraged, another set of martyrs for the Dominion even after it falls. If you want, I can speak to the Vice Admiral about locating your parents and getting some word through. I'm sure they're fine."

"Can you do that? Do you mean it?" Horner did not look away. "Because … Jim and I have had our fill of replacing dictatorships with other dictatorships. Of being lied to. And I don't think we can do it again. So I want you … my fellow captain … to look me in the eye, again, and assure me that you're not here to install another emperor, to simply enact vengeance."

"The UED is here for justice and a unified human race," said David, looking Horner in the eye while his insides squirmed. _He looks so young … and he would not be out of place on our Armada._ "The colonies, once reclaimed, would answer to the directors back on Earth. No emperors. Tarsonis will be acknowledged and answered for; all responsible parties will be held accountable. That includes the Council. I cannot promise you a utopia, Captain, but I can promise you an end to the Mengsk dynasty and its lies. And if there are threats beyond that, Reapers or whatever, the UED will stand against them. With you. And with the Council, if need be." _Of course … I am only a captain. I can only hope that the Vice Admiral is being honest about his own intentions, attitudes, and goals._

Matt maintained his stare for a long while. His shoulders finally heaved as he sucked in a breath.

"Alright." He took a sip of wine. "Alright. Sorry to put that on you. It's just … there are plenty of people aboard this ship with family scattered throughout the Koprulu Sector. I think it's better we get this question out of the way right now. And heaven help you if you people aren't telling the truth." He took another sip. "I know Jim thinks you aren't. But the prospect of putting a bullet through Mengsk's skull…" Matt grimaced. "Sorry. Maybe we shouldn't talk business. So … where on Earth are you from?"

Perhaps it was simple relief at steering away from a topic that made David feel profoundly uncomfortable, but he actually found a great deal of enjoyment in describing the country and planet of his own birth to Matt. When it came to describing what first contact for them had been like (specifically, the leaking of the probe footage way back in 2499) the two of them actually found themselves laughing in disbelief at just how much of a clusterfuck that period of their lives had become in such short order.

"So … protoss blow up a scavenging vessel," said Matt, red-faced and choking with laughter, "I mean, just out of nowhere. And the zerg are … you know. Char, Mar Sara, whatever. You guys seriously got footage of that?" David nodded, unable to contain his own grin. "Christ, I'd like to see it. Uh, anyway, and then Victus is on the other end and he's just like, "What the fuck?" And the galaxy just explodes … I mean – how is anyone supposed to keep track of this? We had aliens bouncing off each other left and right, planets blowing up, Mar Sara got completely evacced and sent off to Eden Prime … it was a mess. I'm surprised we got off as lightly as we did, really. The terrans as a whole, I mean. The galaxy too, I guess. This … at least this is calculated." He waved his arms. "I mean, the UED shit. You're not going out of your way to kill people … just, you know, you pointed at Mengsk and went, "That's the guy! Him! Fuck this guy!""

"We restructured our entire government to fuck that guy," said David solemnly, before snorting. "I mean – we had a few countries outside of the UPL, unwilling to go along with our policies, but the Relay 118 incident changed all that. We couldn't sit idly by and let ourselves be overlooked in the face of such change, of such carnage. If anything, I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner." David then slapped his head, then even through the fog of drink, felt stupid for doing so. "Forgot. After Okeer, we need to turn this ship around, back to the Armada. Korhal's coming up soon."

"Oh?" Matt held up a finger and stood. He searched over by one of his dressers, and then David heard the sound of scribbling. Matt returned to the table and shoved a piece of paper in his direction.

"Should help me remember," he said brightly. David nodded in approval at what was on the sheet: **Go back 4 Korhal.** Next to this simplistic message was a crudely drawn picture of a battlecruiser, complete with motion lines and _zoom_ written above it.

"Fine art," murmured David, shoving it back across the table. "Make sure to … hang it up on the fridge." He checked his watch. "Oh, hell. Need to go to bed. Tomorrow is krogan day."

Matt bobbed his head up and down vigorously. "Right. Right. You're dropping with … the good krogan … to pick up the other one. The bad krogan. Krogan doctors? Since when do the krogan have doctors?"

"I should go." David stood shakily and saluted. "Good night, Captain. Thank you for the wine. And the steak. And the wine."

Matt saluted back, and then David lost track of what he did next. When he awoke the next morning, it was next to, instead of on top of, his bed, his mouth was filled with something indescribable, and someone was banging on his door with the fury of a stampeding rhino.

David rose with as much dignity and steadiness as he could muster and staggered for the source of the cacophony. His door slid open, revealing the concerned face of Commander Shepard.

"Sir?" She stepped inside, took one look at the room, and shook her head. "Sir, really? How much did you have to drink?"

"No idea," muttered David, flashes of last night worming through his brain. "It wasn't Guinness, that's for bloody sure. Agrian wine. Strong stuff." He closed his eyes, trying to will away the dull throbbing of his head. "Glad we took the planet. Am I late for the op?"

"Just breakfast." Shepard steered him towards the shower, for which he was duly grateful. "I'll bring you something here. Cold shower, and I'll get you coffee. Just for fuck's sake, don't let anyone else see you like this."

David spent a long time under the water, neck craned back, letting the moisture wash away the horrible feeling of unwashed stickiness that pervaded his body. When he finally heard further monstrous banging at the bathroom door, he moaned and turned off the water. Shepard cracked open the door and slipped a steaming mug and a small plate of eggs into David's hands, without ever looking inside or exchanging a word with him. _Fitting, I suppose. The medic should hold us all together like this … when we start to fall apart._

By the time the blasted AI announced it was time for the ground teams to meet up, David had just barely finished dressing. Checking the mirror again, his eyes appeared bleary and reddened, and the outline of 5 o' clock shadow could be glimpsed hugging his face, but there really was nothing for it. _The Commander … I must be sure to thank her later. No way would I have been able to pull it together otherwise. And I cannot let it happen again – this is behavior I would expect of Jenkins, not a captain of the UED._

As before, they gathered within the hangar, at the foot of the Normandy itself. This time there was no suspect thief to pick people out, however; this operation would be considerably more straightforward.

David's own people, plus Duran, waited on one side, and a small assortment of Raiders and aliens waited on the other. David could not help but notice two things, the first being the absence of the bombastic and somewhat murderous elcor, and the other being the distance between the bombastic and definitely murderous krogan and literally everyone else. The krogan owned about a quarter of the space the crowd was using to himself.

"Good to see we're all present," said Jim mildly as he stepped forward. He himself looked like how David felt; ill-kempt, hairy, and smelling distinctly of alcohol. _And I'm not imagining it. See the way the Raiders look to each other and mutter? I'm not the only one staying up at night and drinking more than I should be._ "This op's a little different from the last one. First off – we're gonna need more folks." He tapped his omnitool, brought up an overview of a planet, swore to himself as it was apparently the wrong one, and then stepped back and let an unhappy looking Miranda Lawson take over.

"Cerberus never had any plans for Okeer, so this plan is going to be a bit more improvised right from the start," she said, bringing up the correct planet. "Korlus is essentially the garbage dump of the galaxy, so naturally unsavory types have set up here. Dr. Okeer is among them, but he's not who we have to worry about."

"Says you," rumbled the krogan, making the people closest step back. "You ever seen a viscerator?"

"Blue Suns under the order of Zaeed Massani have been dispatched to guard Okeer for reasons unknown," said Lawson loudly, casting a dirty look at Wrex. "Planetary scans conducted from orbit show little activity from the zones they are supposedly guarding, however. With Massani's disappearance and the ongoing hostilities in KM space, it seems that Vido Santiago has been pulling his men out. That does not change the fact that this will be an op in hostile territory and that Okeer himself represents a significant unknown." This time when she looked at Wrex, it was with a more neutral expression. "I take it you know a few things about him?"

"Ganar Okeer is part of a dying breed," said Wrex without much apparent interest. "He's one of the few krogan who still think they can change things. He's the reason there are infested krogan on Tuchanka. He's a lunatic. You would be better off putting a few bullets in his head than recruiting him."

"I've got my orders, Wrex," said David firmly. "Lunatic or no, his goals may align with the UED even if his methods do not. If you want us to actually make progress on a cure within your lifetime, we'll need Okeer." _I sound so convinced … all I really have to go on is Stukov and DuGalle's word._

"Okeer twists everything he does, everyone he works with." Wrex narrowed his eyes. "I don't know if you speak from conviction, ignorance, or arrogance. We'll see how your attitudes hold up when you're face to face with him."

"The target is holed up at the top of what is essentially a makeshift rubbish tower," continued Lawson once she was certain they were finished. "There are two entrances – a heavily guarded front, and a landing pad on the back. The UED team will be taking the back entrance alongside Wrex while the Raiders launch a distracting assault from the front. We do need to pull away your Gunnery Chief for a sniping team, however."

"You'll be workin' with me, darlin'," said Jim, winking with what seemed to be great effort at Williams. "I'll be spotting. There's a nice little building just outside the defensive perimeter that I'm just sure you'll love."

Williams' only response was a swift nod. Lawson continued.

"Anderson's team is responsible for making their way through the Blue Suns encampment and reaching Okeer. Williams and Raynor will be eliminating key targets, and the remainder of the present Raiders will be busy acting loud and obnoxious on the compound's entrance." _Well, that shouldn't be too difficult._ "Trome will be heading your squad. Sound simple enough? Once Okeer is under UED custody, fall back. The UED team will be picked up alongside the krogan from the roof of the tower. Questions?"

"What if the krogan resists?" asked Alenko after politely raising his hand. "I understand that the biology of the species renders them somewhat resistant to restraint." _Or reason._

"I was told your medic would find some means of pacifying him," replied Lawson shortly. "Failing that, however, we will just have to content ourselves by taking his data after shooting him dead. I am sure you find some appeal in that idea, Wrex."

The krogan only bared his teeth in what might have been a smile in response.

"We have our jobs, people," said David, clapping. "One hour to suit up. Get a move on." The crowd dispersed.

"Feel alright working with Raynor?" asked David quietly as his team walked back to the ship. Williams shrugged.

"He seems a bit hungover, but I guess that's why he wants to spot instead of shoot. Of course, we'll have to exchange roles eventually. Might get tricky."

"He won't let us down," said Shepard, sounding surprisingly certain. "We know his track record; he has every reason to drink but he still has more combat experience than the rest of us combined. We should be worrying about the krogan."

"Which one?" Alenko seemed genuinely confused.

"The one we'll be working with," replied Shepard after a moment's hesitation. "He might try to provoke Okeer so we are forced to shoot him. Not sure I could really blame him."

"We will see to it that he does not, Commander," said Duran. David was growing very tired of his constant smiling. "I will keep an eye on him, of that I can assure you. His thoughts are not closed to me."

David found it tempting to ask just what was going on in that lizard brain of Wrex's, but thought better of it. Encouraging Duran did not appeal to him.

They geared up in silence. Alenko strapped a pair of turrets to his back, Williams prepared herself for a sniping job alongside a hungover colonial, and Shepard donned her hulking armor and waited for the others. David spent far longer than he would have liked trying to suppress the continued throbbing within his skull. To his shame, he was the last one ready, even finishing after Jenkins.

Cortez waited outside the ship in his shuttle, while the Raiders had already piled into their own craft. Trome waved Williams over while the rest of the squad wished her luck, and David gritted his teeth in anticipation of the coming roar of the engines.

Clambering aboard the craft, he felt a jolt at the hulking form he found already strapped in the craft; it was the krogan in a modified CMC suit.

"Took you long enough." The krogan's voice sounded even deeper from behind the helmet, and the once enormous form of the krogan now looked positively gargantuan. He took up three seats by himself, and only Shepard dared to sit next to him.

"We ready back there?" Cortez at least sounded somewhat excited. "Alright. Shouldn't be too bad a drop, but I'm not sticking around. Let's get in and get out, alright? Captain, we good to go? They're waiting on us."

"The future awaits us," said David, preparing for the onslaught of noise. "Let's do this."

Sure enough, the thunder of the engines made David bite his lip and try to hold down his breakfast. While his team sat comfortably and chatted amongst themselves, David closed his eyes and tried to remember a happier time where the sensation of a drill had not been applied to his temples.

"Not much traffic and practically no orbital defenses," said Cortez happily. "Just a nice, sleepy Terminus world. Scans are showing … absolutely no comm traffic coming from the drop site. Is that, uh, expected?"

"It is not." David looked to Duran and then Wrex. "Thoughts?"

"I sense nothing from below, Captain." Duran shifted in his seat, smile now gone. "We should proceed with perhaps even greater caution than I would have initially recommended."

"Knowing Okeer, he's probably slaughtered all of the Blue Suns in gruesome medical experiments." Wrex did not sound even remotely surprised or interested at this prospect. "He'll probably just see us as more test subjects to play with."

"Let's try to keep it simple. If he tries anything, we kill him." David squeezed the grip of his rifle tightly. "We didn't come here to end up as test subjects." The shuttle began to rumble and shake. _Here we go._

"Coming through the atmosphere." Cortez checked his instruments. "I would've expected them to track us or hail us or something … there's nothing. No sign of life from the compound. Captain, please be careful. We're closing in."

The rumbling intensified briefly before stopping. David felt a dropping sensation in his chest and readied himself for whatever came next.

"Taking point." There was no arguing with the krogan. The dropship doors slammed open and Wrex practically leapt from his seat on the way out. Shepard followed close behind, instruments at the ready, while Jenkins covered her and then advanced.

Alenko, Duran, and David himself brought up the rear, their weapons trained all about the shuttle's immediate surroundings. But there was nothing. Just heaps of trash and debris piled into the sky, and the wind whistling through the discarded detritus.

Cortez sent out a hurried goodbye and then lifted off, the dropship closing its doors with a clang. David tried to focus on his surroundings rather than the scream of the engines, and breathed a sigh of relief as the shuttle disappeared into the smog choked heavens.

"This is Jimmy," came his radio. "We're parked a ways southwest of ya. We don't see anything … Trome, what've you got?"

"Sealed entrance, but no one's home." A few distant cracks followed his statement. "Fired a few shots. See if anyone answers."

"Wouldn't that bring police? Or something?" Jenkins sounded confused.

"Terminus Systems. If it's not your problem, you don't come running." Wrex looked to the young marine, towering over him in his armor. "Blue Suns are the police here. We'll see if they're still around. Try to keep up."

David considered protesting, perhaps trying to assert his authority as a UED captain, but in all honesty he was in no position or state to defy a thousand year old alien and dictate his movements. He motioned for the squad to follow the krogan as he made tracks, and they did.

"Still no movement that we can see," said Raynor, now sounding a bit worried. "Trome? Anything?"

"No. Trying to find a way to get this door open."

"Captain Anderson? Wrex?"

"I can smell something foul," muttered Wrex. "Fouler than usual on Korlus, I mean. Beyond that bridge."

"Stay frosty, people." _Coming from your hungover captain … it sounds like a joke._ And yet, for whatever reason, David felt no anger towards Matt, no blame. _Well, why would I? It was a fun evening. Not his fault that I overindulged._

A thin bridge, perhaps part of a rail, stretched overhead, standing out of place as actual infrastructure in a place molded by rusted starship parts and outright rubbish. They passed under it without issue, although David could not help but notice the way his rifle barrel wobbled with slight nerves.

"There." At the other side, Wrex pointed. Behind the bridge, and shielded from Raynor's view by a thin wall of metal, was the source of the smell.

"Unpleasant." Shepard stepped forward to take a closer look. "They're all Blue Suns." The pile of bodies stacked higher into the air than David liked, their arms and legs sticking out from the heap and making it resemble some kind of amoeboid hedgehog. "They've been here for a while. Parts of them are congealing … can see some scavenger work on the faces and exposed parts of the limbs. Whole thing's probably heaving with bugs."

"Urgh…" Jenkins stumbled, his rifle draping from one hand while the other covered his stomach. David could not help but privately echo the sentiment.

"Okeer's work. Or some krogan." Wrex crouched over a turian body that had fallen away from the rest of the pile. "Notice the removed fringe. The mutilation of the face and removal of colony markings. Krogan work, definitely. They didn't even use guns." He straightened, and then turned to his squadmates. "I don't think Okeer is going to come quietly."

"If he doesn't, I no longer feel the slightest hesitation in killing him." David took one last look at the revolting pile of corpses. Colonial bodies freely mingled and exchanged rotten fluids with the batarians and turians. "Let's press on. Raynor, Trome – found Blue Suns bodies. Wrex thinks it's krogan work – Okeer has appeared to have gone rogue. Keep an eye out."

"Sounds fun." Raynor sounded very tired. "Alright boys and girls, keep it tight. Williams seems like she's a good shot, but krogan are tough sons of bitches. Trome, any luck?"

"Found a side path. Captain, race you to Okeer."

"Keep going." David let Wrex take point and followed him closely, watching for any sign of movement.

The corridor of rubbish continued onward, leaving the horror of what they had seen behind in favor of the dull red and grey of slowly rusting metal. The impromptu path eventually led to a makeshift ramp made of converted scrap. Wrex charged up it without any apparent worry over whether it would carry his weight, ascending into a world of literally scrap ramparts.

"Still nothing." Raynor now sounded very nervous. "Trome? Wrex? Duran? Anyone? Anyone seen anything?"

"Just the bodies, Jim." It felt strange to call him that. _I want to call him Captain Raynor … but he's not the captain, truly. And calling him James or just Raynor seems … wrong._ No one else seemed to have noticed his choice of terms for the colonial, however.

"There's tunnels," said Trome. "Jim … I recognize these kinds of tunnels. I think we may have viscerators on our hands."

"Ah, shite." David did not bother containing his dismay. His grip on his gun tightened. Wrex grunted, suddenly actually caring, somewhat. Shepard brought her shield close to her and raised it. All of them listened for any hint of sound. All that could be heard, however, was the steady creaking of the metal.

"I'm sending in our Firebats." Jim's voice had taken on a breathless quality. "Wrex? Any advice?"

"Fire is good. Bring fire." Wrex shifted his shoulders and pressed onward, not looking behind him to see if he was being followed. "Assume we're already spotted, and that they're following us. I recommend pulling our snipers out, they're no good against anything that moves that fast and keeps it up close."

"Alright, me and Williams are buggin' out. Keep it tight and good luck." The thunder of a dropship echoed reassuringly overhead. _Well, at least Williams got out, even if it goes wrong for the rest of us._

The ramps continued upward before leveling out. Now the surroundings changed somewhat, and not for the better; everywhere David looked now, he could see signs of struggle. They kicked away spent shells with their feet as they walked, trying not to trip on the deep gouges ripped in the metal. Holes left by errant rounds puckered the strips of metal being used as both wall and floor all around them. Looking at his own feet, David could not help but notice how the metal looked discolored. Dried blood of many shades covered the floor.

"Almost there," grunted Wrex. "Fought viscerators before. They attack once they feel they have the advantage. They've had it since we landed. Something isn't right."

"Something hasn't been right since we landed," replied Shepard. "Any word on those firebats?"

"They're with me." Trome's voice. "There doesn't seem to be a way up to the compound, though. Might have to try one of the tunnels."

"Bug out and bring those firebats to us, Trome. Let's not take any stupid chances." David hoped he didn't sound like someone who could be disagreed with. "Got it?"

"Affirmative, Captain. We'll drop them off ahead of your position."

They continued forward, and David noted with anxiety how the gouges and spent shells only grew more frequent the further they pushed on. _Almost like … they spilled out of the lab and into the waiting barricade, and it was nowhere near enough._

The shuttle roared overhead, and four firebats jumped from the back, landing with a hearty crash.

"Name's Buck," said the foremost, raising his visor and saluting with a thick armored hand. "Toasted plentya zerg in the past, this ain't gonna be different. Ya'll sure you seen nothing so far?"

"If a viscerator turned up, at least one of us would be dead." David could tell Wrex wasn't joking. He clutched his enormous rifle tightly, and his voice was both booming and grim. "Burning them is a good first step. Won't be enough on its own, but a good first step. Keep going."

Feeling slightly more confident in the presence of the toothless yet clearly confident colonial firebats, David walked side by side with Duran, who remained unusually quiet. _I suppose infested krogan leave even him rattled._ At least his weapon did not shake. David could not quite keep his still.

The rusted ramparts terminated in the first actual Korlus building they had so far set foot in. Reinforced with reassuring amounts of concrete, the entry room appeared to be nothing more than a simple waiting area; a secretary's desk occupied the corner, although David again noted the disconcerting number of stains. If some smiling asari or terran worked that desk, she was now long dead.

"Beyond this door." Wrex stood at the thick metal door leading beyond, his voice certain. "Firebats with me. Watch the streams." The Firebats stacked up on either side of the door while Shepard backed Wrex, and the rest of them trained their weapons on the entry. Yet, the door opened only to reveal an empty room beyond, no sign of hostiles.

They filed in together. A simple series of monitor adorned the walls, while a large window overlooked a massive storage room beyond. The door closed behind them with a solid thud … and the room went completely black.

David's heart hammered, but he said nothing, only activating his night vision. The laser sights on each of his squadmate's guns swiveled this way and that, while Wrex only snorted and stomped his foot.

The monitors blared with static before coming alive, a krogan face looking down at all of them.

"I do not wish to be disturbed." The voice was deep yet smooth, different than Wrex's harsh grunts. "You live because you are unexpected. You arouse my curiosity. But my work will not be undone. It will not be interrupted. Explain yourselves, before I decide your fate."

"I am Captain David Anderson of the United Earth Directorate," bellowed David, trying to drown his fear in his position, in his duty. "I am here to procure your services for the UED cause. We wish to rehabilitate the krogan people, cure their condition."

"An alien's line of thinking." Okeer sniffed. "Your UED is new to space, so it is not surprising. Perhaps you wish to revive the gleaming horde of empires past? To use us as the lance to pierce the side of the Council, to make them bleed?" Okeer grinned as David remained silent, uncertain of how to respond. "How very like the salarians. Faced with a foe you could not overcome, you turned to your biological betters and sought their assistance, uncertain of the price, confident that your children could solve any difficulties you could not. We have already seen that outcome. Your UED does not interest me."

"We are poised to overthrow the Dominion and establish supremacy over the Koprulu Sector," snapped David, voice shaking. "To dismiss us is folly. Furthermore, we hold a battlecruiser overhead. If you try to kill us, this facility will be nuked."

"And what does that accomplish?" Okeer sounded dismissive, but nevertheless shifted in his chair, brought his face closer to the screen. "You need a krogan scientist. You need krogan medical data. No one else can bring you the skills and knowledge that I possess."

Shepard stepped forward towards the screen. "If you are unwilling to part with them, what use is it to leave you here to continue doing … whatever the hell you are doing?" Shepard sounded ready to spit. "You've stuck yourself on a sad little island to play with syringes. We are offering you something more … but you think you can take us?"

"We're getting nowhere," Wrex rumbled. "Let's just waste Okeer, take his data, and leave."

"Is that you, Wrex?" Okeer sounded delighted, and not in a fashion that made David remotely comfortable. "Ah, you need a warlord to unite the clans. Your UED thought this through … except for the part where I swore I would see this krogan dead for his past meddling." The screens went dead.

"Well, that went well," said Jenkins, voice having taken on a very high pitch. In the distance, through the metal, David heard grunting laughter.

"Alenko, set up turrets, firebats, each corner, everyone spread out!" They all fanned out while Lieutenant Alenko removed the first turret from his back, checked it briefly, and placed it on its legs. It activated with a faint whir.

Shepard kneeled and raised her shield, having positioned herself behind Wrex. Wrex brandished his enormous rifle without any visible fear, training it on the ceiling. They did not have to wait long.

Both doors burst open, causing light to spill into the room as the people who had placed their backs to them wheeled around, only to be immediately bowled over. As David shifted his rifle and began firing indiscriminately once his suit cleared it, something clattered from behind him, and then roared.

"Ceiling! Coming from the ceiling!"

Alenko's turret coughed and sputtered as it fired, the barrel tracking several moving targets. Hoarse laughter filled the room even as the bullets flew and the flames roared.

Wrex was at the door they had come through, his weapon chugging in one hand while the other glowed blue, firing biotic blasts at the creatures beyond.

One dropped from the ceiling before David, its scaled hand knocking his steaming barrel away before bringing its face to his visor. The mandibles parted as the creature revealed a mouth filled with pointed teeth so unlike Wrex's own blunted versions, and David tore his rifle free and clubbed the creature back, only making it laugh. It stopped laughing when Wrex came from behind and leveled his gun with the back of its head, splattering a mix of carapace and brain all over David.

The quiet if tense visit to Korlus turned quickly into a screaming massacre. Flame-ridden corpses decorated the entrance of both doors, someone was screaming in horrible pain in a puddle of blood, and viscerators continued pouring in, their teeth gnashing at the prospect of slaughter. The door they had entered through was now covered by a pair of firebats and both of Alenko's turrets, but there was no stopping the onslaught. The other door was manned by Wrex and Shepard alone, the latter shouting compliments to the former as he took wounds after wound only to have it knitted together before his eyes.

David could not see where anyone else was. His eyes hurt from the contrast of bright light and utter darkness, and everyone else was just so many shifting shadows. His weapon cast them in harsh relief, making them seem real for just a few moments, before fading again into the murky black. David's teeth ached from gritting them, and as he took a step forward he nearly slipped in what he guessed was someone's kidney. _The krogan certainly have some to spare._

"Down this door," called Wrex, having apparently blasted an opening. He and Shepard rushed through, and David only stopped to pick up their screaming … someone from the blood-soaked ground and drag them out with one hand while the other fired indiscriminately at the next batch that crashed through the badly mangled ceiling.

They sealed the door shut behind them, the firebats burning the hinges closed. David looked down at the man he had rescued and found it to be Alenko, staring up at him with a hand covered in blood. Several fingers had been ripped free from them, and the stubs seemed to point up at him accusingly.

"Patching him up, stopping the bleeding." Shepard applied the nanite sutures and painkillers expertly, and Alenko fell asleep without a sound. David stared into Shepard's green visor and mouthed a word of thanks. "We gotta go, sir. Let's go."

Jenkins and Wrex took point while Shepard backed them. David shouldered Alenko in a fireman's carry before proceeding. Of Duran, there was no sign, and only two firebats now remained, one of them limping and cursing to himself. Shepard spoke words, although David could not make them out; she seemed to be calling for the Normandy, or Norad II. It vaguely occurred to him that he should be doing it, but his mouth opened and shut without a word coming out.

They descended the ramparts to the lower level, moving quickly as the screams again grew louder. When the door at the bottom opened, a rush of air pushed through. _Pressurized or sterilized environment maybe?_ The room beyond was dark, yet faint lights glowed from arranged shelves.

The door slid shut behind them, and they fanned out in search of the deranged krogan. The glowing lights came from tubes of unknown liquid, in which floated yet more horrid krogan specimens. It seemed Okeer had learned little from his experiments on Tuchanka.

The lights came on again, although this time they did not blind. Someone stepped from behind a row of stasis tanks and fell to his knees, a gun pressed to his head. Duran offered a cheery wave to the gaping David while Okeer kneeled before him, eyes glassy, superior demeanor no longer evident.

"My apologies Captain; I am of little use in a direct firefight." Duran smiled widely at all of them. "I thought it best that I find the good doctor and bring him out into the open for a more comprehensive discussion."

Okeer stared blearily up at Wrex. "I saw you take half a dozen near fatal wounds, even for a krogan. The medic … was it the medic?"

"We are not begging you for aid, Okeer," said Shepard, stepping forward, visor opening so she could stare him properly in the eye. "We pride ourselves in our medical advances. We are approaching you as equals in this process. We could do some good together."

The door behind them pounded twice. Okeer shuddered at the screams.

"Allow me access to my omnitool. They are in a frenzy and are no longer of any use to me." Duran allowed him to stand, and the krogan tapped his own glowing red device. The screaming grew high pitched, deafeningly loud, and then a series of muffled pops sounded from beyond the door. The screaming stopped. All sound seemed to stop.

"We speak as equals," he said, fear and uncertainty gone. He looked back to Duran. "Search my mind, psychic. Do you not see my purpose, as clear as the shimmering lakes that once graced my homeworld? Our purposes coalign, and there is nothing more to fear from me here."

Duran, expression uncharacteristically hard, no trace of a smile, looked into Okeer's eyes. Slowly, he nodded.

"Permit him trust and disgust in equal measure, my good Captain," he called back to David, who shook himself, trying to overcome the hammering of his heart. "What would the Directorate have of him?"

"You must re-" David coughed, his voice all too scratchy and weak. When he spoke again, his voice returned to normal. "You must return to our Armada. When the time comes, you will be provided with a facility and as much staff as you require. We need you to bring all available medical data and be fully open with UED specialists about krogan history, psychology, and biology. For your actions here, you will be forgiven in return for continued cooperation and good behavior. Failure to comply means immediate execution. Do you understand?"

"Forgiven?" Wrex growled, his armor shimmering with the blood of countless viscerators in the harsh light. "You carry a fingerless comrade on your back because of his treachery. And now all is forgiven?"

"I have my orders," said David, the bile rising in his throat. "We need Okeer. The krogan need him. With UED backing, he will be kept under control."

"So … it falls to aliens yet again to decide the fate of the krogan." Okeer gave a throaty chuckle, and then pointed to a lone stasis tank at the far end of the shelves. "I have but one request. My research here, such as it is, has already borne fruit. Tampering with zerg genetics directly brought me only useless warriors, no better than the vorcha that pollute this galaxy. Powerful, yes, intelligent, yes, but not true krogan. They would seek to follow the wasted example of the fallen empire." Okeer closed his eyes. "Tampering is useless. But emulating … seeking to follow the example of the perfect organism, the very concept of zerg genetics … it bore fruit. Expensive, precious fruit. He sleeps, but you will waken. You will witness firsthand the future of the krogan, as decided by krogan." Okeer gave a shrug of his enormous shoulders. "Whether you follow my example or decide your own path, it matters not. Simply do not waste my work. I will come quietly."

"Secure the tank," David said quickly to Jenkins, who nodded and ran over. "Shepard, call for evac, and tell them to make ready for two bodies. We've got Okeer. He is to be restrained and kept in isolation." David looked to Wrex, who glowered at him even through the visor. "This carnage cannot go to waste. We have to swallow our pride, this sense of injustice. The future awaits us, and it looks to be a far darker one without Okeer."

Okeer smirked at David, whose fists clenched. He shifted Alenko's body over his shoulders.

"You will not regret this partnership, human," uttered Okeer, standing tall amidst the countless misshapen krogan freaks he had created, floating serenely in their nutrient tanks. "Supremacy of our peoples … it is what your leadership desires. It is what they shall have."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Selendis**


	24. Hypocrites

" _The Emperor of Mankind, Arcturus Mengsk, docked at the Citadel today, to waiting crowds of both fervent admirers and sullen protestors. Despite the controversy of the long-awaited visit, Mengsk's first steps into the Citadel were received with polite applause, even as C-Sec officers suppressed two riots in the Zakera Ward only miles away._

 _In other news, the protoss known as Executor Selendis, famous for her brief and angry interview with UNN reporter Emily Wong, has reportedly made an incomplete recovery following her injury in the Citadel Keeper Tunnels. Ms. Selendis has refused to comment on the nature of her injury, and all other protoss are similarly silent. They also had no comment on the upcoming visit of Mengsk, stressing the need to remain neutral._

 _The new Blasto film, Blasto XXII, Blasto Steals a Mothership, shattered box office records yesterday…"_

Irina Dantius, Illium News

 **Selendis**

Though she was not proud to admit it as a Templar, Selendis always sought out potential avenues of retreat before every battle; if the enemy should best them and no mass recall was available, it fell to her, as first a Praetor and then an Executor, to secure the lives of as many of her warriors as possible. _Always … check the terrain. Seek out the exits. Plot the course in which the defeated warriors will flow. Some will fall, but not all. There is honor in dying valiantly … but just as much in fighting another battle, perhaps with greater success._

In the face of such overwhelming loss and with the Khala denied her, there was now only one place to fall back to: memory.

 _Tassadar, how did you bear this? How do the Nerazim cope with this emptiness – to be reliant upon the ears and psionics alone to hear another's words or heartbeat?_ Her mind wandered the crimson expanses of her tortured mind, careening down one corridor of a past century's recollection before ending up at some key event. _When I was declared worthy of the Templar Caste, a Zealot. Moments spent in the archives, receiving a compliment from Praetor Karass for the diligence of my studies. Feeling the thrumming of countless hearts beating as one, charging the lines again and again in Antioch…_

Everywhere she turned, there were reminders of the importance of her caste. _It is my very identity. To be Templar is to be one with the Khala. To be Executor is to be an exemplar of the warrior caste. And yet…_

Her stunted nerve cords flared and burned. Even clamped and tied together as they were, they still occasionally glanced across her neck, still received the faintest signals from the racial gestalt. _Glimmers of light to a starving protoss._ Reaching back only hurt, thrust her against the bars of a cage built of nerve and bone, built to imprison her spirit. _Nova. Saren. You should have left me to die there, in those tunnels._

"A cowardly thought for one who calls herself Templar."

Selendis's eyes snapped open. Her temple throbbed with pain, but still she stood, stumbling only slightly. _Zeratul._ He stood before her, hunched and watching, his cloak drawn tight against his body. His dark visage seemed out of place among the gleaming gold and vibrant silver of the _Spear of Adun_ … but then, what did that make Selendis?

"Adun toridas, Prelate," murmured Selendis, her mind feeling sickened and raw as she transmitted the words. "While it is good to see that you remain well, call me a coward again and I will tear you in half."

"Is the Khala truly required to make a warrior of the High Templar?" Zeratul chuckled. "It seems to be more a matter of temperament, of psychology. Your cords are cut, yet still you bear the battle armor of the Templar and speak with a fiery brashness. Only one thing is missing, and its necessity is debatable. We have long lived without it, after all. But … to wish for death when so many are depending on you?" Zeratul's green eyes stared into hers, as vibrant and fiery as a newborn star. "That is a thought unworthy of either of our peoples. You are young still, Selendis, and possess considerable strength of the body and mind, even without your fellows propping you up. You will endure."

"You have never tasted the Khala," whispered Selendis, her mind straining at the simple effort to communicate. "I had feet to carry me, and now I must crawl. I had arms to carry my burdens, and now there is only my back. I had a family on which I could rely, and now I am orphaned. I was not born ignorant of the Khala as the Nerazim were, Prelate."

Zeratul turned, apparently looking to see if anyone else was present. When he turned again, his eyes flickered, the intensity fading into a gentle softness.

"I have seen the Khala as well, Executor." Zeratul's voice was only a hair above a whisper, and even in her own weakened state, it was clear that this was not a topic Zeratul brought up often. "Tassadar, in his first experience of twilight, granted me a glimpse into the energy binding you all together into a single will. Words … cannot do it justice, and I applaud your poets for even making the attempt. To _feel_ the words and intentions of the warriors at your side, rather than to simply read their thoughts. To act as one, rather than simply simultaneously … as if your brothers were only extensions of yourself rather than separate beings. That such a connection between sapients can exist … relieves me. Even if I do not want it for myself."

"You have seen it, felt it?" Selendis shuddered, struggling not to fall to her knees. "How … how could you look away? If it were presented to you, how could you refuse it?"

"I rather hope that one day you will be able to answer that question yourself." Zeratul stepped forward and grasped Selendis by the shoulder, pulling her up. "It is not the end, and none will look to you and think you weak. You have endured, and will eventually overcome. You stand between Void and Khala, as Tassadar did. Only the ignorant would dismiss your promise. You are still Executor."

"All Executors before me have possessed intact nerve cords," replied Selendis, straightening and making Zeratul release his grip. She now towered over him, and the pain began to recede. "But … this is a time of changing tradition, is it not? No Executor before Tassadar allied with the Nerazim since their exodus. This is a time … to set examples." She didn't believe her words, really, but hearing them and seeing Zeratul incline his head in acknowledgement … some of the pain ebbed yet further.

But this too, was only a memory.

"Executor!"

Selendis snapped fully awake. Even without the Khala she could still drown herself in memory, meditate only to lose her mind in rumination. This time, Fenix awoke her from her recollections, instead of Kaldalis. He had taken her position while she recovered aboard the _Spear of Adun_ , and now once again bore the arms and armor of the Zealot rather than the customary vestments of a full High Templar. He watched her come to, unease seeping from his mind. _But it does not touch me, as it would have before. To some, a blessing, perhaps._

"My apologies, Praetor," murmured Selendis, sitting upright in the massive chair, recently produced by the Council to seat protoss aboard their space station. "My wounds … still trouble me. But I will redouble my efforts to overcome the pain."

They sat side by side in one of the balconies above the Council chambers in the Citadel Tower. The dull lighting and purple tinge to much of the room put Selendis in mind of her own brief visits to Shakuras, a land shrouded in perpetual twilight. The number of stairs and relative ostentatiousness of the setting, however, put her in mind of the Templar Archives. The room felt hushed and each person's voice rebounded off the ceiling and walls, much like the Archives on Aiur. The banners of many races decorated the walls, and plants bloomed even in the dull light. _The Council's Nexus…_

Aldaris stood among the Councilors, his own head a good deal higher than his contemporary's. His bearing remained imperious and visibly unconcerned with the affairs of lesser species; an impressive feat, given the innumerous doubts Selendis knew raced through his mind. Of all the protoss to visit her during her time spent recovering, Aldaris had been by far the most frequent. _It is touching. His concern … and his indignant rage. Yet he feels the latter every time he looks upon one of our Nerazim allies. This … this is not ideal._

Razagal remained on the balcony opposite, still as inscrutable as ever. She had visited Selendis but once aboard the _Spear of Adun_ , and said only little. From what Selendis understood, her fellow Templar now regarded their darker brethren with naked hostility, where before had only been muted suspicion. _We are becoming as the lesser races: divided, enraged at past wrongs committed merely by the neighbors of our supposed allies. To take justice instead of vengeance … it feels so unnatural._

"I'm tellin' you, no one on Eden Prime is gonna believe a word of this!" The ITSA ambassador, Damien Ransom gesticulated wildly with each sentence, his voice booming jarringly in the quiet. "We're just supposed to believe that a buncha aliens, hitherto unknown, showed up out of nowhere and abducted an entire city? Bullshit! It was the batarians, and you assholes are still coverin' for them!"

"Language, Ransom," said Sparatus, utterly unfazed. "Despite the desperate nature of your situation, there are still some basic expectations you must meet. We did not call this meeting to be insulted. We will offer all the aid we can, but the ITSA must not retaliate until this matter is investigated thoroughly."

"Oh yeah?" Ransom's head turned to Aldaris, who stared back blankly. "You 'toss on this? Can't you read minds and wipe out planets? How is this not solved yet? If the batarians didn't take our people, tell us who did!"

"We have yet to assign a name to these beings," replied Aldaris, broadcasting his voice to the entire room. "Nor can we find a motive behind their heinous actions. It is clear that they are hostile to the peoples of the Council, and they will be stopped. But the investigations are ongoing. If we were to punish everyone we suspected of this continual … madness … we would inevitably harm innocents. You must stay your hand, good ambassador."

"Even if I believed you, you think the folks back home will?" Ransom shook his head in disbelief, stepping back. He raised his hands and began counting off fingers. "Elysium. Terra Nova. Benning. Now Eden Prime? The terrans, my people, believe it was the batarians. The asari we got, they think it was the batarians. And the elcor, guess what, think it was the batarians. So what do you think'll happen when I head home and say, "False alarm guys! Don't do anything about your missing siblings, spouses, and children; the Council's got this!""

"I would expect them to do as we say, lest the incur penalties on behalf of both the Council and the protoss," replied Hiron, her raspy voice stilling the room. To Selendis's surprise, Aldaris made no attempt to step in or perhaps correct her. _He … agrees._ "We will provide aid. We will find the culprits. But we will not condone a war against the Hegemony, especially at such a … critical juncture." Selendis, even from this distance, could see the way Hiron's eyes flicked to Sparatus and then back to Ransom. "This is all we have to say on the matter, and our patience runs thin. This session is over."

Ransom stepped forward, an angry finger sticking towards the Councilors … and then he stepped back, turned on his heel, and began the long descent. _Adun help us if he does not obey the Council's instructions. More instability is not what is needed at this juncture._ The crowds on the floors and in the balconies watched Ransom depart with many a muffled murmur, some disapproving, others duly sympathetic. Selendis, for her part, at least understood Ransom's anger. _These cowards attack through the shadows, have corrupted people of many races. I desire nothing more than to strike them down in righteous anger … but it will not do to make assumptions._ And yet … if she thought she had a good idea of who was responsible, of who commanded the Dark Templar who cut her nerve cords, Selendis knew she would not hesitate. _I would not let even Fenix stop me._

"These are strange times, Executor!" said Fenix, his thoughts loud and blunt. "To interpret the Dae'uhl so liberally, and walk among these lesser races side by side with the Nerazim? If you had told me this was to be my fate six years ago, I would have dismissed it as fantasy. But alas, here we are, trapped in a web of alien intrigue! I almost long for the days when I need only reach out in front of me to impale a zerg upon my blades; though terrible, the creatures were refreshingly blunt in their intentions."

"Protoss words cast overly favorable light on past conflict," chirped the geth platform designated as Prophet, barely visible past Fenix's hulking form. "Even if Citadel situation deteriorates, still hope for future. Collapse of Council military in face of zerg aggression meant assimilation and extinction for all non-zerg life."

"But it was still a time of glory!" protested Fenix, rounding on the geth with no small amount of indignation. "Our weapons and armor, coated with the guts of countless slain zerg, and a horde of the lesser races' soldiers at our backs, unified by a single purpose! Ah, perhaps my memories color the march on Thessia and mask the misery and terror we all felt, but at least the outcome was ... binary." Fenix looked to Selendis as if for reassurance. "What I mean is – we were either slain or we were utterly victorious. There was little doubt and no treachery. Now … I am so confused. And uncertain."

 _At least you can find solace in the Khala, in standing shoulder to shoulder with your fellow Templar._ Selendis did not have even that. But she kept her own thoughts and laments to herself. _I must find the strength within myself to bear these burdens._

"Who follows the wild-eyed terran?" asked Fenix suddenly, turning to and fro, looking to his companions on either side of him. "Their names and faces all bleed together. So few are worthy of remembrance."

"Emperor Mengsk," said Selendis, shutting her eyes and picturing the man in his great cloak, his voice both booming and commanding. "Leader of the Terran Dominion. Udina represents his government, alongside the Umojans. This chamber … so many are greatly angry at him."

"Jim Raynor mentioned him with great loathing." Fenix peered down over the edge of the balcony, looking at the sea of whispering faces. "The loathing is not matched here, but it is clear the man is unloved. As I recall, the man set the zerg on a terran planet to win his civil war. It is how he became emperor." Fenix's eyes narrowed as he turned to the door far below the chambers, past the many steps. "If this be true, then I would consider him unworthy of life. To set loose such vile creatures among innocent peoples…"

"Artanis set the colossi loose against the Conclave," replied Selendis bluntly. "It cost many lives, but it brought swift end to the Civil War." _At great risk. The Conclave could have activated the Arkships and brought them to bear against us … it would have killed more than half the protoss peoples in the process, but such escalation would only have been logical in the face of the colossi's rampage._ Selendis looked to Aldaris, who met her gaze and nodded, his eyes softening with sympathy. _He gave the order to stand down, the order to end the war. He chose to end the cycle of vengeance when the cost became too high … would the Hierarch have done the same?_ Selendis shivered. _Can those terrans do the same? I do not know. And I must remain alone with my doubts._

Fenix grunted, and returned to his position between Selendis and Prophet. "As I said, I miss the simplicity of the zerg. All these political maneuverings and questions of morality … bah! I count myself lucky that I still have an Executor give me orders and a blade to execute them. I only ask that once our true enemies have been uncovered, that I be free to lead the assault against them."

"Praetor, I can think of no one better suited." _And I will be right alongside you, meting out long overdue justice._

From the far end of the Tower came a heavy drumbeat. Everyone, alien and protoss alike, craned their heads around to watch the procession as it slowly made its way up the steps. Selendis cast her aching mind out and found unyielding resistance. She retreated quickly. Far below, the Emperor of Mankind walked with heavy tread up the many steps, never slowing, a long cloak of mixed black, red, and golds trailing behind him.

The drumbeats continued while the Councilors and guests looked on. Muttering could be heard throughout the crowds, whispers of rumors and dark deeds committed by the emperor and his fledgling governments … but from the terrans to, there came the sounds of hushing, the brief flares of anger. _A man on whom the galaxy is divided. A monster, or a savior?_ To her surprise, a terran donning a mask and light powered armor, armed with a rifle and a rigid mind, materialized behind them. When she reached out, he returned a gentle greeting and a request to ignore him. _Security. And far more polite than any C-Sec people I've had to put up with._

The drums ceased, their final booming echoes fading within the vast spaces above. The terran, Emperor Arcturus Mengsk, stood before the Council. Their faces remained still, and Selendis (although she was admittedly diminished) could not sense a hint of emotion within them. _But it is obvious … there is no sympathy here. No concern._

"You all know why I am here," uttered Mengsk, his voice silencing all other remaining sound. All stilled as he turned to each Councilor in turn. "The terran people are under attack. We were promised assistance from the Turian Hierarchy, and General Janus pulled back to Palaven after a brief conversation with this, "UED Admiral," Alexei Stukov. When the terran people joined this Council, when the Terran Dominion pledged itself to you, when I swore loyalty … I expected far greater things than this from the most powerful organization in the galaxy. I expected far better from the most powerful sapient races to have taken to the stars."

"We – we who have bled for you on Thessia, across the Zerg Exclusion Zone – we who have provided relief and technologies for the betterment of both of our peoples as a whole after the horrors of the Great War – now we call upon our friends and allies upon the Council for aid against a foreign aggressor, vicious and unrelenting. We once came to your aid, risking all to save you. I ask for not even that."

Selendis felt the hackles of the crowd rise. Some, most of them turians, wanted to rend Mengsk limb from limb. They turned to one another and made gestures across their throats, snarled to one another and tapped their feet. Others, asari and terrans chiefly, were holding themselves back from applauding. The salarians alone remained hard to read, calculated. And across all other races, the opinions ranged across the board. The only constant among them was the conclusion that at the very least, the emperor spoke well.

"For the Hierarchy at least, the precedent is quite clear," bellowed Sparatus, silencing the crowds once more. "Long ago, our colonies wrongly rebelled against the homeworld, and separatists still plague us from time to time. All have been silenced, for the empire is sovereign. This Directorate, the representative government of _your_ homeworld, Earth, makes a valid point. Should we engage the UED, it would challenge our own sovereignty … in addition to exposing us to other, closer threats." Sparatus heaved a sigh, and Selendis knew he directed it at the salarian, Hiron. "And, with the Reapers a growing concern, we cannot afford to do more than we already have. We would advise suing for peace, and praying that the Directorate will grant you mercy for your mistaken independence."

"Are you serious?" Udina rounded on his turian counterpart furiously, while terrans all over the Tower shouted in dismay. The ghost to Selendis's left, scanning over the balcony with his rifle, twitched ever so slightly in the Councilors' direction, making Selendis almost stand. The Tower filled with muffled shouts and scuffling feet, all of it sounding so impotent within the vast chamber. Fenix looked to Selendis with confusion, half-tensed. Selendis shook her head and sent out a warning not to intervene. _A simple message … words but no emotion. Fenix … how can you still obey me when we are so apart? How can any Templar?_

Her doubts she left unspoken, mostly suppressed. Udina had not stopped shouting at Sparatus, while Hiron looked on with arms folded, inscrutable. Aldaris looked on, eyes flashing. He rose, ribbons of energy flowing from his body.

"Enough." It was not a shout. Not a scream. And yet it carried, when no one else's words could. Aldaris towered above all, his own robes scraping against the ground as he stepped forward, looking down at Mengsk.

"You speak far better than most terrans I have had cause to know, Emperor Mengsk." The terran inclined his head at this. "But know this … among the few terrans I have made cause to know, Sarah Kerrigan stands foremost among them."

Shock, red and raw, shot from Mengsk like a lance. He took a step forward, face contorting, but no words sprang from his mouth. Aldaris held up a hand.

"The protoss are unconcerned with the fates of alien governments, only the people who live within them. There will be conflict, to be certain, but I do not doubt the Directorate will overcome, and then unite. A figure such as yourself … so twisted, so inward looking … so spiteful … Emperor Mengsk, you will receive no assistance from this Council." Selendis nodded to herself. _So … it is true. All of those lives … extinguished. Swift justice._ Aldaris turned his head to the other councilors; Udina fumed and wrung his hands, while the other two did not even bother containing their smirks. "And for those of you who realize why I render this verdict, on behalf of both the protoss and what I know to be a majority of the Council, though Hiron remains so silent … there will be a reckoning. A day of truth will soon dawn, and not all of you will survive it. There is far too much … complicity … in these chambers. That is all there is to say at this juncture. This session is over."

Uproar. Terran spilled out of the crowds, screaming, waving their hands. Turians moved to contain them, C-Sec officers sprang from the shadowed corners of the room, and the Dominion ghost vanished. This time, when Fenix looked to Selendis, she nodded. They rose, their psi blades lighting, and they vaulted the balcony together, landing with a great crash.

The terrans fought their way against the guards and the crowd, straining to reach Aldaris, who remained standing, motionless. A ring of hard terran men and women, faces scowling, had already surrounded the now hidden Mengsk, two turians lying twitching at their feet. Selendis felt a head, listening and hearing only footsteps and screams, no sound of the Khala…

Her blade lashed out. The ghost reappeared, the glowing weapon burning a hole through his chest. He clawed at it weakly with one hand while the other drooped, making the barrel of his rifle scrape across the floor. _The weapon was trained on Sparatus. Foolishness. Foolishness and madness._ She retracted her blade and let the man fall limp, the life ebbing quickly. Nerazim now danced among the raging crowds, sending idiots sprawling with casual backhands, forcing the crowds apart with a mixture of brute strength and great agility. To Selendis, it might once have been a relieving sight. Now, she felt only an initial jolt of terror, followed by undeniable resentment.

The fighting ceased quickly. The terrans were lined up against one wall, everyone else at the other. The Councilors had departed the chambers, and C-Sec now poured in from every direction, far quicker to respond this time. _They must be so tired of all of the fighting in this tower …_ At the foot of the Tower, a bright light burned suddenly, a beacon in her mind. _Mengsk. And … Kerrigan._

"Return to the _Spear_ and pull our people off the station for now," said Selendis once Fenix had pulled himself free of the crowd, a bloody streak of a handprint now gracing the armor on his right thigh. "They will blame us for this. I must seek out Aldaris and Razagal, and possibly prevent a further incident at the foot of the Tower. I will keep you apprised of further developments."

"En taro Tassadar, Executor!" Fenix thumped his fist against his chestplate before fading into light. Selendis, weary but aware the day was far from done, descended the steps as quickly as she was able.

The ring of hard men and women lay scattered, with only two more terran ghosts still standing, their rifles pointed at the smirking Kerrigan. She stood totally upright, arms at her sides, no weapon in her grip or even on her person. _I did not know terrans burned so bright. She is changed, from last I felt her._

"Murdering bitch," growled Mengsk, defiant even in the face of what could easily be his death. "Do you know how many will die for your actions here today? The protoss could have stopped them, easily, but you had to have your petty and misplaced vengeance. If Nova were here…"

"Then I guess I would be killing two people I hate on the same day." Kerrigan's hands clenched into fists, even as she smiled brightly. "I'm wondering how quickly things would fall apart if I just … snapped your neck. Here and now. Would Duke and Warfield give up? Would the UED just pick up the pieces, tear down all of those lovely statues? How does it feel, to be so utterly helpless?"

"You are a fool if you think me still helpless." Mengsk stepped forward, only to be forced backward, staggering, by an unseen force of energy. He wheezed, apparently slightly winded. "Tell me then … Sarah … how does it feel to be so very alone?"

The smile froze on Kerrigan's face, and Selendis reached out for her, just as she stepped between the two parties.

"You are unwelcome here," she said, turning her head to Mengsk and his groaning followers. "Go." Perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps she should have allowed the inevitable escalation until Kerrigan lost control, but she could not. Aldaris wanted Mengsk free and for the terrans to take their natural course; a middle path between preparing for the Reapers and intervening for the "greater good" of all peoples. _And just where did that get us with the quarians? No … I will honor the Judicator's wishes._

The two women stood facing each other, each pulsing with their own energies; Kerrigan's, vibrant and barely controlled, and Selendis's, far colder and yet structured. _Without the Khala, there is so much less … passion. There is no channeling the wrath of others, letting it rebound and feed upon itself._

"If we must fight, it will be for a very stupid reason," said Selendis, looking into Kerrigan's eyes without blinking. "We are not foes. Please calm yourself."

"Harder … without all of the conditioning." Kerrigan took a great, shuddering breath, and the air stilled. Her heart ceased its thrashing, even as her eyes watered faintly. "Heh … wish Saren had decided to come. He would not have said anything … just would have taken him out, damn the consequences. Pretty sure even Spectres are not supposed to kill emperors." Her shoulders slumped.

"Thank you," murmured Selendis, stepping forward. "I would prefer not to strike against the one Tassadar sought out … the one who helped shape his final destiny. We have no quarrel, and I have never seen your like before. You burn with the intensity of the Templar."

"Always weird, hearing compliments from a protoss." Kerrigan smiled weakly, almost making Selendis wish she had a mouth, so she could return it. It disappeared quickly, though, and Kerrigan began to avert eye contact, even as she spoke further. "Look … could we talk, for a while? If you have somewhere to be, I'll walk with you … I just feel like, you leave me alone, I'm gonna end up with Mengsk and a knife. And I know that's not the plan … that's not what the Council wants. It's not what … a friend of mine, would want. He wants justice, and that's not something I'm good at waiting for."

"The terrans above seemed to lack self-control," said Selendis, staring up the steps. "I am pleased to put you separate from them. I seek Aldaris, but will gladly hold you in my company. Let us walk, Sarah Kerrigan."

 _The last time I walked with a Spectre … well._

This was different, however. They waited in the elevator together, but Sarah remained quiet while Vasir had been chattering; probing, Selendis now realized in retrospect. And there was … something there. _We are both alone, cut off from those we care about … our comrades._ Or at least, that is what Selendis felt.

"Your ongoing investigations," began Selendis, speaking slowly. "How do they fare?"

"A Reaper thing touched me and my partner. He got burned, I didn't." Sarah flinched. "I … saw some of what's coming. I told the Councilors, Aldaris among them. He told me he would start to fully mobilize Aiur. These things … the ones arming the terrorists, harvesting colonies … they're already among us." Kerrigan shivered. "There are tendrils of intent snaking their way through the Citadel, through many worlds. I think some of this division … I think it's being engineered. Engineered and aggravated, by the Reapers." She looked up at Selendis. The elevator doors slid open, but they stood. "How about you? I heard about your cords … is it all okay? You feel different from other protoss."

"I follow the ways of the Khala still, even as the Nerazim clamor to educate me in the ways of the Void." Selendis strode past Kerrigan into the Presidium. The ghost struggled to keep up. "I am a Templar, a warrior of the Khalai, and my energies remain as intense and powerful as ever, even if I cannot channel them along the same paths, even as I remain … separate." Kerrigan caught up with her and began keeping pace.

"We'll find Vasir," she assured Selendis, sounding utterly certain. "These bastards … hurting us, driving us all apart. They'll all pay for this … as Mengsk soon will." A shadow of wrath passed over Kerrigan's emotions. "There's nothing stopping me anymore."

"Aside from the friends at your side," said Selendis, stopping Kerrigan dead. "I have no desire to see you lose control. Nor does your partner. Keep him close, Sarah Kerrigan, and put aside these selfish thoughts of vengeance. Do what you must, not what you want."

"Coming from you, I might actually consider that advice." They crossed the remainder of the Presidium in silence. C-Sec vehicles whistled by overhead while onlookers watched the Spectre and the protoss walk together in silence, their curiosity irritating Selendis.

"We're bringing some of your people with us, you know," said Kerrigan as they reached the receptionist desk for the two protoss offices. "Zeratul and Legion. Saren too, but he's not one of yours … at all. I named the geth, by the way, way back when. Didn't know if you knew that. Glad to have 'em along … be nice to set one of the good Dark Templar on the bad ones."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it would."

Selendis could find no sign of the receptionist. They stared up the steps to Aldaris's office.

"I saw your outburst on the news." Kerrigan sounded sad. "People … don't seem to know how to treat you guys. And it seems you like you don't know how to treat people. But you're still here, sorting everything out, trying to create order from chaos. Trying to shield this ungrateful galaxy…" Kerrigan stared off into the distance, looking at nothing. "Maybe if everyone had been on Thessia … it would have been different. When it really matters, the protoss have been there. And you guys don't seem to lose very often. Makes me hopeful. Wish Garrus could see the protoss the way I do. Saren, too."

"And how do you see us?" Selendis turned to Kerrigan, anticipating an end to the conversation and wishing it were not so. Kerrigan's blazing star dulled to embers as Selendis presented her question.

"As people, struggling to do the right thing in the face of the usual inconveniences." She listed them off on her fingers. "Politicians. Religion. The natural inclination to want to save people who look like you, rather than the screaming weirdos."

They stood in silence for a few seconds longer while Selendis mulled over these words. _If only all sapients were forced to bear the gift of psionics, as we do. To struggle to maintain tight control when a single out of control emotion can topple a building…_

"Thank you."

The two of them said nothing more, parting in silence to do their respective duties. _En taro Tassadar, brave Kerrigan. Adun toridas, wise Zeratul. Keelah se'lai, Legion._ She stood before the door to Aldaris's office. _Die for the cause, Garrus Vakarian. Bear your wounds with pride._

Aldaris was not alone in his office. Tevos parted from him quickly, having apparently been seated on his desk. Aldaris stood quickly, skin flashing a pale red, mind closed off. Selendis could not help but feel as if she were somehow unwelcome … even though this was ridiculous. After such a disruption in the Council chambers, it was natural for an Executor to demand an update of standing orders from her Executor.

"En taro Adun, Judicator," said Selendis, perhaps more sharply than she intended. "Having just sentenced a terran government to dismantlement in front of the entire galaxy, I was curious about an update to standing orders."

"We remain here," sputtered Aldaris while Tevos smiled at Selendis, simultaneously backing away from the desk. "The _Spear of Adun_ , as per the Hierarch's instructions, must remain with its full complement of troops. If civil unrest is directed our way, we will repulse it with an appropriate degree of force. Retain a tight rein over Fenix; he can get carried away when he feels his honor is being challenged. We are here to protect and instruct, not wantonly slaughter."

"And why are you here?" asked Selendis, her gaze causing Tevos's smile to widen even as her spirit faltered. "I imagine you have your own people to report to, given the severity of the situation. Is there not some measure of damage control to be conducted?"

"I protect and instruct, as you do," replied Tevos, before making her way for the door. Selendis shifted to the side, allowing the asari passage. That left the two of them, former enemies and now uncertain friends, staring at one another.

"You are recovering from your loss," said Aldaris, breaking the silence with a wavering voice. "Truly, the will of the Templar is of iron. Not even severance from the Khala will stand in the way of duty. I thank you for your continued service and loyalty. You remain steadfast in the face of chaos and loss."

 _The death of my identity is not the death of my duty. It is not much comfort, but it is comfort enough._ She nodded at him, extended a tired thanks from her mind. This time, Aldaris only recoiled briefly on reflex before returning her thanks with a gesture of his own. _It is not the Khala … but there is still life and meaning beyond it._

"I would know the Matriarch's thoughts on this," said Aldaris, returning to his desk, producing a khaydarin crystal from the folds of his robe. He planted it firmly in the center of the table. "If you would be so kind … I would seek her own judgment. I fear I perhaps overstepped, even if I believe my decision to be the right one." Aldaris closed his eyes, and the crystal began to hover. "There is no negotiating with that terran. The Council learned that much to their sorrow, and so I did not see the need to try. We will monitor the continued developments in the Koprulu Sector … I hope we will not have to intervene."

Selendis left the Judicator there, slipping peacefully into the Khala. _It is … difficult not to feel jealousy._ This time, when she stood before the Matriarch's darkened door, she felt no fear. _It is difficult not to feel … worried. That perhaps, in losing my fear of this darkness, of these peoples, I am to become them._

 _But no … I will not abandon my teachings, regardless of the Nerazim's thoughts. At least the Matriarch has spared me her counsel on the matter._

She entered the darkened room and, not unusually, became swiftly uncertain whether anyone remained within. After a few moments of waiting, however, the Matriarch's familiar piercing gaze shone from the shifting shadows.

"The Judicator now seeks my counsel?" The Matriarch sounded inches away from bursting into laughter. "Ah … how the proud so frantically backpedal, when they know their hypocrisy has been exposed for all the world to see. Well … in this case, perhaps not the world. Only those with the perception and suspicion to know his mind, his thoughts, his actions…"

"He would know your thoughts on his decision, on the developments." Selendis felt strange acting as a simple messenger, but she could not imagine Aldaris ever standing where she did now. _So perhaps it makes sense._

"No. He would deflect, and obfuscate. He blinds your eyes with orders while the evidence runs about the Citadel, whispering to her High Matriarch at every opportunity." Razagal shifted in the shadows, the edge of her face coming into the dull light, casting sharp relief on her weathered features. "Aldaris, for all his admirable growth and restraint, still cares not a whit for my words. He believes himself to be in the right, as he tends to, and he would take any true criticism of mine with little good grace. How pitiful, given his actions. This … charade … disgusts me. Misleading his Executor to hide his shame…"

"I do not understand." Selendis stood among the shifting shadows, facing the Matriarch whose nature she still could not comprehend, even as she approached it herself. "His actions seem logical. Tevos's presence is perhaps…" Realization dawned, and horror swiftly mounted. "Perhaps … _Tevos_?"

"And so she finally realizes." Razagal stepped into the dim light, suddenly looking tall and powerful despite her ancient and hunched demeanor. "Perhaps it is only a small thing, amidst all of this devastation and chaos, but I cannot help but wonder, in the long run, if the Ara Tribe or even the Hierarch himself might take offense at learning just who the father of Tevos's child is."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**


	25. Queen Takes Queen

**Valerian**

"This is madness," said Valerian, looking up at the newly patched ship he was to fly into Port Hanshan. He rounded on Liara, who stood behind him, arms and back appendages folded. "And this is hypocrisy. Can't you see it? How does this differ from your account of Eden Prime?"

"You will be freed at its conclusion," replied Liara, eyes narrowing. Faint orange light shone from them, and the air began to smell of heated metal. "And I told you once already … never compare me to _him._ You will descend. You will spin fabrications. You will explore. And then, once this mystery is solved, you will be freed. I promise this to you."

"Foolish." Abathur emerged from a far wall with a horrid squelch, his appendages scrabbling against the flesh as he pulled himself through. "Heart humming with fear." Abathur slid across the scaly floor, a thin trail of mucus in his wake. "Mind racing with plots." He grew closer, making Valerian step back as their eyes met. "Treachery flowing in blood. Good only for experiments. Fodder. Should dissect. Uncover secrets of psi emitter technology." Abathur towered over Valerian, appendages pressed together as if they were palms. "Queen need only step aside."

"I am not Sovereign … and I do not aim to be worse than Sovereign." Liara stepped between the two of them. "You test my patience, Abathur. You said yourself that the emissions below reminded you of Daggoth. Reminded you of the Overmind. This could be the breakthrough we need to recreate the Swarm as it was … to make us capable of challenging the Reapers."

"Taking planet below would allow for Reaper challenge." Abathur remained still, but his voice only grew deeper as he bowed his head in Liara's direction, bringing his face closer and closer to hers. "Taking galaxy, Overmind's intent. Correct intent. If serious, take planet below. Revisit Thessia. Seek hunter killer and torrasque strains. Without superior strains, without many worlds, Swarm doomed to extinction at hands of Reapers. If unwilling, allying with Reapers only prudent alternative."

"That is not an option." Liara brought her nose less than an inch away from Abathur's face while Valerian looked on, desperately happy at Liara's refusal even as he lamented every moment he spent aboard the leviathan. "This is the last time I will tell you. If you insist on betraying everything I've ever stood for, both before and after my … transfiguration … I will put you separate. Apart from the Swarm. How would you like that?"

Abathur recoiled, pulling away from Liara at a speed Valerian did not think him capable of, a thick film of viscous fluid left in his wake. "Hate. Left worse than beast. Unthinking."

"That is what you would experience under the Reapers as well." Liara shook her head. "Trust me, Abathur. I know what we stand against. They will not tolerate the Swarm, and I will tolerate no further protests from you. Get out."

"Respect Queen's wishes … but still question judgment." Abathur paused for a moment. A hole opened up beneath him and he sank into it, his eyes the last thing to disappear. When he had disappeared entirely, Valerian heaved a heavy sigh and scratched the back of his neck. _It's been itching like crazy lately._

"You have a hard task ahead of you, Valerian Mengsk," said Liara, still staring at the swiftly mending patch of floor through which Abathur had vanished. "We have patched up your clothes as best we can … and this shuttle should take you there and back easily enough." She turned to look at the craft, so freshly acquired from Tarsonis. "Your father's work … a civilian ship. Some of the skeletons we found inside it … they were quite small."

"And yet the zerg were the ones to destroy the planet." Valerian stood his ground this time as Liara turned. "Listen … Liara … you're in a bad position. There's no one else like you in the galaxy, I'm willing to bet. But what you're doing … to me … it's not right. I had nothing to do with Benezia, with any of my father's actions. Holding me here-"

"It's all I can do." Liara looked past the shuttle, at the wall. It slid open with a sound like a raw piece of meat falling on to the floor, revealing the space beyond it. Despite knowing better, Valerian expected to see Noveria, shining cold and white below … but that was ridiculous. The planet was light years away. _Liara would be a fool to bring the leviathan any closer to that world. It tasted the zerg once already, during the Great War. Never again._ Liara stared blankly at the stars for a few more moments.

"I am sorry, Valerian." She returned her gaze to Valerian, who slumped. "We both have our obligations. If freed, you must warn your father and your people of the zerg. And I … I must protect my own people, such as they are. Get to Peak 15. You are the son of an emperor – they will let you through one way or another." She stepped forward, bringing herself close to Valerian. She planted a surprisingly heavy hand on his shoulder and pulled her own face close, making Valerian gasp and twitch. _Like … staring into the sun._ Her eyes _burned_ , and Valerian knew it was nothing intentional on her part. _Just … power bleeding off of her. Like the protoss. Like the Reaper she described. Heat blazing from a massive star…_

"When freed, you may speak freely about whatever you wish. But while on Noveria, I guarantee swift and painful death if you blow your cover." She relinquished her grasp, and Valerian staggered backward, instinctively shielding his eyes, which ached as if he had just woken to find himself in a room filled with blinding light. "Go forth. If all goes well, we may never meet face to face again."

 _Wouldn't that be something?_ Valerian scratched the back of his neck, a small flake of dried flesh coming away with it. _Damn. Scab's open again._

Doing his best to mop up the blood with the back of his hand, he ascended the ramp into the small ship and tried not to imagine the means by which the zerg had affected their repairs. The metal of the hull looked shiny and smooth, and the interior appeared a little dusty, but otherwise normal. He had taken the time to place his belongings in what he hoped were natural looking positions throughout the shuttle. He had pointedly left the ghost radio behind, however.

"It looks fine, Valerian." Liara's voice echoed through Valerian's head as if she stood beside him. This was a new trick of hers, and a trick that Valerian found both profoundly irritating and intrusive. "How thoroughly will they question you, truly? Your father is not one to reward curiosity where he is concerned…"

 _This is true enough._ Valerian sat himself at the helm. The coordinates were already set. _Now it's just a matter of making sure the docking authority doesn't blow me out of the sky on the approach._ He activated the engines and turned on the autopilot before sitting back in the chair. The back of his neck itched.

"It'll be nice to actually get out of the leviathan." Valerian did not truly recognize the sound of his own voice as he said that. It sounded harsh and raspy, likely a product of the cough he had suffered from the past few days. Still, an ember of hope burned within. _Because it's true. While I may be bound to Liara for the time being, at least I won't be living inside of a massive zerg organism._

 _Now there's something no terran has ever thought before…_

The engines roared and the ship stirred. Slowly, ever so slowly, it climbed into the air while the VI plotted a course. A massive sphincter now opened before the shuttle, thankfully visible to Valerian only as a small blip on the projected flight path. _Leaves me wondering just what hole I am exiting the leviathan from._

Valerian took little relief in his liberation, such as it was. To him, the only indication of the sudden freedom was a faint shaking of the craft, the hum of the engines, and the slow progression along the flight path. Looking around, it was hard to believe that this craft had just days ago been rusting on the surface of Tarsonis, filled with the skeletons of … _well. Perhaps one day I should pay the planet a proper visit. I know the Umojans want my father's crime exposed … a public apology would do much to bind us together. And that apology might have to come sooner than later._

With little to do but scratch the damnable itch on the back of his neck and wait for Noveria to inevitably hail him, Valerian forced himself to go through the lists of casualties inflicted by this so-called "UED."

 _Tyrador, Braxis, Char, Agria, Demon's Fair … the extranet was the only outlet left to me in that leviathan. Liara is not one for conversation, and I have a duty as a prince._

The most disturbing thing he had seen by far, however, were the accusations leveled at his father by the damned Earthers. _I had hoped the galaxy would take notice of my absence … but not like this. Never like this. My father has done much to prove himself capable of occasional depravity, but family has always to him been paramount. Whatever comes, I will at least delight in disproving this particular accusation._

The hail came suddenly, making Valerian's heart leap into his throat. He smashed buttons wildly, almost forgetting for a moment how to reply to the dock authority.

"Unidentified vessel, you are locked for an unauthorized approach vector to Port Hanshan. State your identity and business immediately or we will fire upon you."

"This is Crown Prince Valerian Mengsk of the Terran Dominion," said Valerian breathlessly, forgetting his composure for a moment. He coughed, and then tried to continue with as much dignity and imperiousness as he could muster. "I am here to visit Peak 15 on the orders of Emperor Arcturus Mengsk, first of his name, as well as to provide the facility with additional research specimens. We apologize for the short notice, but trust you will accommodate the Terran Dominion with all promptness."

Whoever it was on the other end, Valerian guessed by their stunned silence that they had no idea about what to do in this kind of eventuality. Valerian's hand hovered over the shuttle controls, prepping to cancel the flight path and kill the shuttle's speed if they elected to fire on him anyway, damn the consequences. _Or if they dally. He could easily be arguing with his superior over this. But really, sooner or later they will have to ask: who would be dumb enough to attempt impersonating the Crown Prince?_

"You are cleared for landing, Prince Valerian," said a new voice at the other end of the line. "A security team will be meeting you upon arrival. Your identity must be confirmed before you are permitted into the Port proper."

"Understood, I will see you shortly." The radio went dead with a hiss of static while Valerian took a deep breath. _Alright, Liara. I've made it to the docks. Let us pray that my status can indeed carry me as far as you think it can._

After triple-checking the auto pilot and confirming the lock for the docking bay, Valerian took the time to leave the cockpit and seek out the solitary viewport located in the small cargo bay. The crates stacked within stirred and chittered in his presence, and Valerian did his best to ignore them. _Liara, if you want this to work, you will need to keep them quiet._

The viewport was sadly facing away from Noveria itself, so Valerian contented himself by staring at the stars all above and around. They vanished quickly as the shuttle made its swift descent, replaced instead by the screaming white skies of Noveria. _A planet established in the name of corporate science. It is a pity that I come to this place as the agent for the zerg queen, rather than of my own accord. There would be much for me to learn, I am sure of it._

 _And … well. This will be the first planet outside the Koprulu Sector that I have set my feet upon. I must try to focus on the positives of this endeavor, if I am to maintain any semblance of regal composure._ Valerian wiped the sweat from his brow, heaved another great breath, and turned on his heels. _The airlock. Try to act like their actions are a burdensome if necessary inconvenience._

Valerian stood before the airlock, head held high, arms folded behind his back. He had no mirror, but he hoped he presented an image of a crown prince, and not of a desperate youth who had spent the better part of the last two months either battling the mud and rain of a far-flung planet … or cowering in the belly of a space whale. The vessel thudded into place, a grinding mechanical clank and a muffled whirring indicating that the ship was locked into place. Valerian waited patiently.

Someone rapped sharply three times on the door of the airlock. Valerian strode to the panel and instructed the doorway to allow entry. With a worrying groan, the doors parted, and Valerian returned to his position with a spine as unbent as he could manage, staring down the barrels of the opposite team of Elanus Risk Control Operators. Valerian felt a stab of fear when he realized that not one of them was terran; the eyes that stared back at him were a mix of turian, volus, and asari.

The volus stepped forward, clad in blood red armor. He waved a small hand, stubby gloved fingers brought together as he fanned the air, ordering his men forward.

"Search the craft. Open nothing, but check for bugs or irregularities."

The turians and asari filed past Valerian, sparing him not a glance as they began their investigation of "his" ship. Valerian looked down at the volus as he stepped toward Valerian without fear.

"Assuming you are who you say you are, allow me to welcome you to Port Hanshan, Crown Prince. You certainly look the part, at the very least. That bodes well for your continued freedom." This was the first time Valerian had ever spoken to or even seen a volus, and to be blunt, he felt the galactic ridicule of the beings was entirely unwarranted. Despite the alien's diminutive stature, Valerian could not help but note the complete lack of fear or anxiety in his tone, as well as an array of pistols clipped to its belt. _And … I think I spy a biotic amp as well. Marvelous._

"No explosives!" called an ERCS operative from further in the shuttle. "Bunch of sealed crates … do you want them open?"

"Negative." The volus looked around Valerian as he replied to his people. "Peak 15 has been very insistent. The terran Spectre brought crates as well, if I recall correctly, and merely dropping one of them on accident was grounds for immediate dismissal. Any weapons?"

"Negative." Valerian turned behind him just in time to see an asari strolling around the corner. "Place smells weird, though. Can you catch it through the suit filters?"

"No. Not that it matters." The volus returned his gaze to Valerian. "Continue searching the ship. Valerian, please come with me."

"Of course." Valerian tried not to outpace the volus as it proceeded on its short legs, instead opting to maintain a polite distance behind him. _Liara … I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm pretty sure I'm about to have to lie. A lot. Any assistance would be appreciated._

"Of course." It was all Valerian could do to keep himself from jumping. It sounded as if Liara were standing behind him. Yet, when he looked to his rear, all he saw was his ship, such as it was. _Of course it smells weird. It's been sitting in zerg guts for the past week while the drones did their best patch job. And before that … well, given that it was on Tarsonis, I imagine it was sitting on zerg guts there, too._

Valerian did not like their destination, a dark and inconspicuous side room that lay well before the brightly lit entrance of the actual port. The lights that activated upon the entry of himself and the volus emitted only dingy and anemic light. When the door slid shut behind him, Valerian could not help but feel trapped. A small metal table took up the center of the room, flanked by a chair on either side of it. Valerian, suspecting how this would proceed, moved to take a seat.

"I did not give you permission to seat yourself." Valerian froze in his tracks as the volus sidled up to him, his right hand resting on the butt of one of his many pistols. "We will conduct this conversation standing, like so. While my men search, you will answer my questions."

"Do not slip up in front of this volus," whispered Liara into Valerian's ear and mind, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "No one is made a security chief on Noveria without being thorough. The fact that he is a volus … he had to fight through existing stigma as well."

 _I gathered as much. I feel absolutely no inclination to laugh at him._

"You have vanished from the public eye … without warning, some might say." The volus stared up at Valerian, expression inscrutable under the mask. "Accusations have been levied at your father regarding your disappearance. He has yet to make a statement beyond denying that he had you killed. I find the behavior exhibited by the both of you curious. Why are you here?"

"I am here for Peak 15," said Valerian without pausing. His mind flashed through any and all conversations he had ever had with his father, trying to concoct some bullshit yet plausible motivation behind his sending him here without notifying the media to some degree. "Noveria has always preferred its secrecy, and my father also did not care to let enemy intelligence agencies become aware of my location."

"The terran Spectre," urged Liara in the back of his mind. "Not Kerrigan, she remains on the Citadel and burns like a beacon … the other one, Nova, was here. The Emperor has vested interest here. Use it!"

"My father also thought I might benefit from witnessing the fruit of certain lines of research," continued Valerian, trying not to tear his gaze away from the volus. "He wanted to show me how scientific advancement can influence political agendas, as well as the reverse. He does not expect to die anytime soon, but nevertheless feels that neglecting my education as heir could prove disastrous in the face of an unexpected demise. Given the recent UED incursion, his actions appear gifted with foresight."

"I would have thought he would have had you stashed away somewhere, given the incursion." Emotion crept into the volus's tone: curiosity. Blessed, genuine curiosity. _Not suspicion. Good._

"I left Korhal just as we received the first reports of Braxis being hit." Valerian's lip twitched as he realized his story was now patched together on a mixture of half-truths, full-truths, and outright lies, and was now sounding more and more plausible than the actual truth by the minute. In the back of his mind, Liara expressed her own approval. "By the time my father was fully aware of the invasion, I was no longer in a position to be easily contacted. By the time he did get ahold of me, he insisted that I continue on my journey and remain outside the Koprulu Sector; he fears for my safety."

"As a father should for his son." The volus's small fingers flexed and unflexed. He turned away and felt for his own head. "Sergeant? Anything?" Valerian did not hear the response, but the volus did nod in response to whatever the asari sergeant said. "Understood. Instruct the dock workers to begin loading the crates for Peak 15. Carefully." Valerian shut his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, opening them quickly when he realized what he was doing.

"Administrator Anoleis would like to speak with you before you go on your way," said the volus, turning back to Valerian and offering a gloved hand. "My apologies for the inconvenience. If there were not a considerable amount of … questionability, regarding your arrival, I would have waved you through automatically. When Nova Terra came through, we skipped nearly all of the standard procedure. Peak 15 tends to have that effect." Valerian took the hand and shook it firmly. "Chief Boro. My most sincere apologies once again over the inconvenience. Do you require an escort to his office?"

"Accept it," urged Liara. "It will look less suspicious."

"It would be appreciated, thank you," replied Valerian, who had in all honesty planned on accepting anyway. "Please … lead the way."

The volus bowed slightly and motioned for Valerian to follow. Warm relief flowed through Valerian's nerves as he followed the alien. _Hard part should be over … right?_

"What does the Administrator wish to speak to me about?" asked Valerian as they approached the much better lit main entrance and Boro waved off the security. A pair of fancy looking glass doors slid open, and Boro bid Valerian follow.

"Standard greetings, a favorable mention to other famous people and the Board of Directors, an assurance that you will not cause trouble for anyone else staying here." The volus shrugged in apparent disinterest. "In short, just a personal guarantee from you that your visit here will only prove beneficial to the Administrator personally, one way or another. Noveria tends to instill that kind of attitude in people." The doors slid open, and the pair of them proceeded.

"This is the lobby," said Boro as Valerian stopped short, staring. "It was designed to look rich and austere, while also offering security staff any number of helpful defensive positions in event of an emergency. When the zerg came, this proved to be quite fortuitous."

After the cramped spaces of the leviathan, hangar, and interrogation closet, Valerian had not realized just how much he missed truly open spaces and properly bright lighting. The interior of the lobby glowed an iridescent blue from the metals, stones, and ceramics of the walls and floor, all of them consisting of hues of blues both light and dark. Great windows at the far side of the room revealed the raging blizzard outside, great drifts of snow being blown against and across the glass. Immediately, and somewhat despite himself, Valerian found himself reminded of the palace in Augustgrad, in how it differed from this lobby. _There it was all about presentation of imperial power, the money that sprang from such a position. This is … this is different. Opposite, perhaps. Power born of money._ The moment of contemplation passed quickly, however, and Valerian followed Boro down the steps, nodding to both the turian guards that occupied the bottom of them.

Valerian was about to ask the volus if there were many terrans on Noveria when he actually spotted some gathered before a large television screen, from which blared the familiar face of Emily Wong.

"…mounting casualties at Halcyon, one of the last lines of defense before the United Earth Directorate has a clear shot at Korhal, and by extension Emperor Mengsk himself." A plume of fire went up behind Ms. Wong, who was apparently reporting close to a warzone. She turned in apparent surprise, and when she spoke again, it was far more quickly. "At present, the capital city of Camro is holding against the onslaught of Earth troops, and orbital superiority has been regained thanks to the interdiction of General Duke. Nevertheless, the fighting shows no signs of stopping…" Wong's face cut out, instead showing a mix of shaky footage of infantry combat, as well as still photos of fallen marines from both sides, their bodies stacked together haphazardly in a torn up street.

"My people," murmured Valerian. Wong continued to speak, but the words were muted to Valerian's ears. A woman was crying into a turian's shoulder at the outskirts of the crowd while others pointed and whispered at each new image that flashed across the screen. Their words reached Valerian easily enough. Words such as "family," "home," "sons," "daughters," "friends," … "death." "Downfall." "Betrayal."

 _Knowing what happened to Tarsonis … I can understand why no one wants to help. Why they want to watch Mengsk burn. But have they seen these reports? The cost of this "justice?"_

"…disturbing reports of asari citizens being abducted and detained in UED held planets has aroused questions of UED intentions regarding non-terrans in the Koprulu Sector," continued Wong, making Valerian's head snap up. "Fresh footage taken by a daring citizen on occupied Agria has finally verified these claims."

This time, the footage cut to a screaming asari being dragged across the street, her hands raking the concrete as a pair of soldiers clad in white armor pulled on her legs. As the camera zoomed in, one of them released a leg only to step forward, slapping the asari across the face with a powered glove. The asari fell still, and the two of them loaded her quickly on to a waiting truck. It drove off with barely a sound and the footage abruptly cut out.

"Prince Valerian?" Boro's voice made Valerian snap his head to his left. The volus waited at the foot of the next set of stairs. "My apologies, but the Administrator is not known for his patience."

"Right." Valerian cast one last look at the vidscreen. _My people … if they turned and saw me, their Crown Prince, what would they say? That Father and I have failed them?_

"These Directorate people," hissed Liara as Valerian descended the stairs. "Who are they? Why do they do this? What do you know of them?"

 _Humans have always been prone to creating empires when it is least healthy for them._ Valerian scratched the back of his neck. _The tradition does not appear to have died out on Earth. As for what they want with asari … no idea. They did not appear to be taking that woman away for her health. Why? Are you afraid?_

"I would be a fool not to be cautious to some degree," snapped Liara, making Valerian cringe as the anger seemed to flare and burn within his mind. "They will probably end up as yet another foe for the Swarm to contend with. And while I may want your father dead … it may come to pass that I loathe these UED to the same degree. My people have suffered enough at the hands of the terrans."

 _I find it distressing how many other races could make the same claim. We have not been the greatest of neighbors in our short time among the other races. I think even the protoss have done a better job._ These thoughts, laced as they were with slight contrition, drew approval from Liara. _Not that I care. We have done a genuinely poor job at relations with others, and sooner or later I hope we will make amends._ He was uncertain where the zerg fell into that scheme. _There is a race I do not feel badly for exterminating…_

The Administrator's office was off to the side of the lobby, enclosed in a tighter yet still spacious room. The asari secretary took one look at the pair of them, beamed at Valerian (making him feel strangely ill,) and buzzed Anoleis.

"Yes, yes, let them through." The Administrator did not sound happy. More worryingly, he sounded like a salarian. _Because lying to salarians is both fun and easy._

"Tell him what he wants to hear and be on your way," urged Liara as Valerian crossed the threshold, leaving Boro behind at the entrance. "They are not as devious and all-knowing as they like to appear."

The door closed behind Valerian, leaving him alone in a large, mostly empty room. To his right, the snowstorm raged on from beyond the windows. Before him, about fifteen feet away, stood a small desk from which Anoleis peered over his computer. He waved Valerian over as he paused.

"Administrator Anoleis," he said, standing when Valerian drew close. "Shaking hands is traditional, correct? A gesture of respect or some such?"

Valerian nodded, and Anoleis took his hand weakly and shook it only once.

"Good. Sit." Valerian obeyed, enjoying the slight cold of the air, the freshness of it. _Never again going in the leviathan … I was suffocating, so slowly suffocating._ He scratched the back of his neck again, grimacing.

"You are bound for Peak 15, correct?" Valerian nodded while Anoleis tapped away at his haptic keyboard. "They claim not to have expected you, but they were not expecting Nova either, and you have much higher clearance, so that has been taken care of." He looked over his monitor, his large eyes blinking quickly. "I must say, it's slightly reassuring to know that those people on that UEN channel are, in fact, full of lies. Some of the things they have said…" A small blue tongue darted over his lips, gone in an instant. "…distressing, to say the least. It is good to see you are unharmed, although it is surprising that you would end up here of all places."

"My destination was determined before the UED invasion." _This is true._ "Course correction was deemed unnecessary once the scale of the threat was ascertained. I'm headed for the Citadel following my visit here." _Probably true. The more I do this, the more I am forced to conclude that only an idiot would tell bald-faced lies at every opportunity … so difficult to keep track of. Stick close to the narrative and twist things into looking a certain way when in fact it could not be farther from the truth … huh. I wonder if this is how Father thinks?_

"Given the presence of the protoss and the recent conflict there, it may not be as safe a location now as it was when you left Korhal." The salarian pressed his fingers together. "But of course, given recent conflicts everywhere, I cannot in all honesty recommend anywhere a Crown Prince would be fully safe. Perhaps a remote corporate world would be the best place for you. We have all manner of accommodations in our galaxy famous hotel…"

"I will consider it," said Valerian, smiling. "And I will remember your offer, Mr. Anoleis. I, and by extension my father and the Dominion, appreciate the offer."

"Of course." Anoleis did not smile, instead narrowing his eyes and staring at Valerian. "Peak 15 … I did not have to issue this warning to the Spectre, but that is mostly because Spectres were born to die unexpectedly sooner or later, regardless of species. But a crown prince … hmm." Anoleis looked at the blizzard outside, apparently thinking.

"A warning?" Valerian prompted, but Anoleis remained silent a few moments longer.

"I am hardly one to speak on the nature of the research done in Peak 15, but I have seen the liability waivers they hand their employees," said Anoleis slowly. "I have also been privy to some of the guests Peak 15 has housed in the last few years. Primarch Fedorian. Councilor Udina. High Matriarch Aethyta. I do not know the extent of your knowledge of the place, but I would suggest keeping everything you discover over there very quiet, and to make your stay as brief as possible. Only a suggestion."

"You mean a warning." Valerian raised an eyebrow, but Anoleis only made a dismissive gesture.

"Overdramatic, forgive me. Peak 15 does not have the best reputation, yet I am sure you will have a … simply grand time." He rose, extending his hand again. This time he gave a much harder handshake. "The transport should be ready by the time you reach the garage. The goods should also be loaded … have a safe trip. And please remember our hotel, should you deem the Citadel unsafe."

"Thank you." Valerian inclined his head in the salarian's direction before retreating, wiping a small amount of sweat from his forehead.

"What is there to worry about?" asked Liara, sounding almost teasing. "Nobody here has the time to feel suspicious about the crown prince … much more advantageous to kiss his ass instead."

 _Fine, yes, this is going better than expected, but that does not change the fact that I will soon be guilty of transporting live zerg into a secure facility, one that it sounds like my father does, in fact, have a vested interest in._ Valerian's left eye twitched. _Even if you free me, how do I explain all this to father?_

"Frame it however you want," replied Liara, uncaring. "Make it clear that you had little choice and did what you had to do for your survival. For the good of your Dominion. Isn't that how Mengsk frames his own questionable actions?"

 _The ruler of the zerg, the Queen of Ruins, again tries to take the moral high ground … how are you justifying my capture and enslavement again? Isn't it for the good of the zerg?_

There was no response. _I thought as much._

"Take me to the garage please, Mr. Boro," said Valerian, feeling slightly pleased with himself, even as the anxiety coiled tightly in his stomach. "I am eager to complete this journey."

"Of course." The volus inclined his masked head and again took the lead. As they left the Administrator's office, Valerian could not help but notice that the crowd around the vidscreen had only grown thicker during his brief visit with the Administrator. Ms. Wong's indistinct voice broke the still air, even as Valerian failed to decipher what she was saying. "The Dominion seems to be struggling as of late. What do you know of Earth? Should the Council be worried?"

"We are your allies," snapped Valerian, making the volus turn his head slightly in apparent surprise as they advanced up the steps. "They are slaughtering us. Yes, you should all be worried. You should all be over there."

Terrans before the vidscreen turned at his words, but they did not react to his presence beyond a dull stare. _The reality they live in and my presence does not gel. They see me and think, "That cannot be the Crown Prince. He's missing, and he's not the type I, a lowly Dominion businessman, scientist, or dock worker would ever meet in person …_ _and if he was, what would I say?_

Liara did not see fit to interject this time. Boro muttered a wheezing apology and continued onward, Valerian following sullenly behind him. _I should not be here. I should be with my people, doing my duty._

"He's expected," said Boro to the ERCS guard before the garage door. The glinting lobby had given way to the industrial dinge once more, and Valerian could not help but feel slightly claustrophobic as he crossed the threshold and entered the relative darkness of the garage.

"Prince Valerian," said a feminine voice from his left as he entered. An asari sitting on a crate in flight gear nodded at him. "Chief. No trouble out of this one, I take it?"

"He's quite polite." The chief looked up at Valerian, and Valerian could not help but suspect he smiled underneath the mask. _A far cry from how I have been treated on the leviathan … if only they knew that I danced on hidden strings._ "I live you here, Prince Valerian. Again, I am sorry for the trouble at the dock. I wish you and your Dominion luck in the face of the coming troubles. I hope to see you again on your way back."

"Thank you." The volus left, and Valerian felt, strangely enough, less secure in his absence. The asari offered him a quick smile and leapt to her feet.

"Seryna Shamtis, I took the Spectre over a few days back," she said, shaking his hand briefly before pointing to a large six-wheeled vehicle resting next to a series of crates. "Easy enough journey, but the roads are a bit worse now. I'm gonna have to ask you not to rock the vehicle, there are some steep drops. All your crates are loaded so … you ready to go?"

"Please." The asari flashed him a grin and tapped her omnitool. The back of the six-wheeler opened up. The two of them approached it together, Seryna headed to the front while Valerian entered the back. He tried to ignore the fact that within this vehicle, a number of zerg slumbered within crates, only their queen's driving will restraining them from going absolutely berserk. _Pray we do not need them. Pray she does not lose control._

The massive car started with a grinding shudder, but its engine barely made any sound once active. Seryna flashed Valerian a thumbs up from the front as the vehicle heaved to life and the rear doors closed with a faint thunk. _Almost there. This hasn't been nearly as difficult as it should have been. Father has certainly been … thorough … in making his reputation known. It is miraculous the chief managed to even work up the nerve to question me at all, once he saw my face and uniform, even slightly damaged as it is._

"You're a long way from the Koprulu Sector, Crown Prince," said Seryna cheerfully. "Your dad keeping you busy, I imagine? Are you still in school?"

"I completed my primary education on Umoja," replied Valerian, gripping the sides of his own chair slightly as the car rocked and bounced. "No time for a doctorate just yet, but I intend to get one in xeno-archaeology when I get a chance. Hopefully before my ascension to emperor."

"I … could give you tips on that," whispered Liara on the back of his mind. "Have you ever read my book? Any of my works? It seems so long ago…"

 _Yeah. It's hard to remember what you were before you become a queen … or a prince._ Valerian gritted his teeth and shut his eyes.

"Not sure why we're not hauling some damn fleets out there to help you guys out," continued Seryna, sounding slightly angry. "I mean, yeah sure, the turians don't want to suffer another Tarsonis and lose a fleet while the salarians are all defensive, and the salarians are cowards, but where are the Umojans? Why can't the asari get involved? The protoss? Plenty of people could be helping, and aren't." She shrugged. "I dunno. Guess politicians got their reasoning, right? Why would a driver have better judgment than the lot of them, right?"

"In some ways you would have a better perspective," said Valerian. "A ground-level perspective. Politicians should keep their hearts to the ears of the public, to the drivers of the world. Let's them know just what the common view is." _I think Father said something to that effect once. He did follow it up with "ignoring the common view if it is necessary and/or convenient," however._

"They don't have time for that," said Seryna, sounding quite amused. The car rocked slightly as she made a turn. "Burying them in letters from a bunch of idiots that don't know what they're talking about … what does that accomplish? I would just like some explanation." She shrugged, turned her head slightly towards Valerian and winking. "Something to think about, transparency. I sure would like to know what the Dominion is doing to the KMC, for instance. Didn't you guys nuke a planet or something a while back?"

"Things will change," muttered Valerian, thinking back to the xel'naga temple, the way the two marines had given their lives for him without hesitation. _Resocialization … does the Council know about that?_ "When the time comes … I'll let the truth out. All of it." _Tarsonis. The Queen of Ruins. All crimes committed by all parties that I know of. Bring it all out into the open, and let the people decide who to blame._

 _Although, from what I've seen of the extranet lately, seems like everyone will just blame the protoss for "letting it happen."_

They did not speak for the rest of the ride. Valerian shut his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat, trying to relax in what almost felt like a safe environment for the first time since he had left Korhal. At some point Seryna turned on weird asari chanting music, but he did not notice. When the vehicle juddered to an unsteady halt, Valerian raised his head and barely managed to open his bleary eyes. A thick, foul tasting substance now filled his mouth and he had to resist the urge to spit.

"Out the back, Prince Valerian," said Seryna, opening the hatch doors. "This is it; garage and central station. Dr. Ibris will be taking you to Rift Station. Where are we moving the crates?"

"Rift is where the research takes place?" Seryna nodded. _Liara. Is that where we want them?_

"Send them to Rift Station," commanded Liara. "You are close."

"Take them to Rift Station," said Valerian. "Handle them carefully. Under no circumstances are they to be opened."

"I'll relay the order." Seryna touched her forehead. "Have fun!"

Valerian unstrapped himself and crawled out of the vehicle while garage workers scurried towards it, shouting instructions. Seryna shouted instructions of her own, and they began removing crates. _Carefully … handle them carefully._

Another asari, her skin a far deeper tinge of blue than Seryna's, waved at Valerian from the far end of the garage. Dressed in a white lab coat and sporting surprisingly gaudy facial markings, she stopped before Valerian, appraised him briefly, and then nodded.

"Wondered if they maybe sent out an imposter. Not sure where you've been, but you're welcome at Peak 15. This way, please."

"Dr. Ibris, I presume?" asked Valerian, caught slightly off-guard. Ibris grunted.

"Not happy to be pulled away to grab you, but at least it's always entertaining to talk about what we do here. Your Spectre behaves like a right bitch, by the way."

"Nova Terra has always been somewhat abrasive," said Valerian while Liara chuckled in the back of his mind. "Forgive me, but what exactly do you do here?"

Ibris turned and pressed a finger to her lips. They went up some stairs, out through a door, and then through a glass tunnel, the outside of which neatly showcased the frozen wasteland that was Noveria.

"Not privy to talk about it in the garage," said Ibris. "Your driver doesn't have clearance, and this place has a bad enough reputation already. Daddy didn't brief you on this?"

"It's something I was supposed to see for myself," said Valerian.

Ibris shrugged. "Whatever. Reading the literature has always been enough for me, but yeah, I guess it makes a certain difference. You terrans haven't been part of the galactic scene long … what do you know about rachni?" Valerian's heart began to slam against his chest.

"It's what the zerg always get compared to," said Valerian slowly, all too aware of how quiet the back of his head had become, of how intently Liara now listened. "They were a race of bugs … or buglike beings, what have you … that threatened the Citadel in times past. Destroyed by the krogan, I was told. Fully extinct."

"Yeah." Dr. Ibris sniffed. "Well, when we're through here, a lot of encyclopedias are gonna need updating. We sort of brought them back. We hatched a rachni queen egg, and she's been pretty obliging about supplying the rest."

 _Oh no …_ In any other situation, Valerian might have simply shrugged his shoulders and made some remark about this being … a good thing? Or just, perhaps, an interesting development. But a zerg queen watched his every movement, heard everything he heard. And what he heard, just then, was that a group of scientists had brought Liara a fresh toy to play with. _She needs some way to expand control of the Swarm, to replace Cerebrates. And a rachni queen … would it…?_

"What purpose does this serve?" asked Valerian carefully as their feet rapped loudly against the metal of the facility, as they rounded a corner and made their way inexorably towards the tram … toward another queen that Valerian would somehow have to deal with. "The rachni threatened everyone, from what I heard. Next … next you'll be trying to bring back the Overmind, I presume?"

Ibris stopped and scowled in his direction. _Right … Thessia._

"My apologies, that was thoughtless," muttered Valerian. The doctor spun on her heel again, and when she spoke her voice had lost any trace of patience.

"There are ethical obligations, first and foremost," she snapped, violently pressing her palm against a door lock. It turned green with a click. "The rachni extinction was tragic and probably avoidable; it is unclear why they tried to eliminate us, but we thought it came down to some kind of territorial misunderstanding. The new queen has not proven hostile in any manner, so this has held up so far."

"She sings," muttered Liara in his mind. "She sings a song of psionics to her children … to me. She has been calling for her mother, calling into the emptiness … and now, I am here."

 _Is this wise?_ Valerian bit his lip. _For all we know, she has been receiving excellent treatment at the hands of these doctors._

"But, if we ignore the admittedly valid ethical bullshit for a minute, what we really wanted was an equalizer against the protoss," continued Ibris. Whatever hope Valerian might have felt for escaping the facility without the zerg in the crates being unleashed evaporated in a puff of despair. "It's become quite the project, really. Only place I can think of where terran, turian, asari, and salarian interests all collide; they all provide funding, after all. The zerg were the only race to have ever threatened the protoss, but utilizing them to any degree past your father's small slave broods is madness. The rachni are a much saner alternative."

"You brought them back to weaponize them?" Valerian asked dully, heartbeat quickening as Liara's mix of anger and triumph coalesced within his skull. He scratched the back of his neck.

"That wasn't the initial intention, but yes." They emerged together into a large tram area, within which a sizeable tram waited for them. Ibris stepped aboard smartly and activated the ride as soon as Valerian was aboard. "We brought over a few Umojan Shadowguards with the scientists they sent; the rachni seem to utilize psionics in a manner reminiscent of the zerg but less … direct. "Less jagged," as one of them put it. Soft and gentle, like a mother's hand or some bullshit." Ibris shrugged. "Each of them is a full individual, unlike the zerg. Matriarchal instead of patriarchal. Their development is quick but not absurd. You won't see them putting up hatcheries in four hours, but give them a planet with some resources and room, and they've got the ancestral know-how to colonize it pretty damn fast."

 _This is a fucking nightmare._ Valerian's fists clenched and unclenched while Liara issued a stern warning. _If I say a word … everyone here dies. There is still some chance that we can extract the queen with minimal casualties. Maybe. I have to believe that._

"If nothing else, believe you will suffer if you break your silence," said Liara. "What you are thinking … it's admirable, to want to protect your people from me. But there is no need. And frankly, you are too late. I'm coming for the rachni, one way or another."

The tram came to a halt. The door slid open, and Ibris bid Valerian follow.

"Initially we separated the children from the queen, and that proved to be a nightmare," said Ibris, stopping before a security door and tapping her omnitool. The door opened with a surprising slam. _Heavy blast doors, I guess._ "Massive containment breach as the children went mad. Fortunately most of our security are Great War vets and we maintain a sizable biotic and heavy armor complement; losses were extensive but manageable. From then on, we made sure to have the terran ghosts ask the queen questions about what would be best for her and her own people."

"Any luck convincing them on being living weapons just yet?" asked Valerian with perhaps more viciousness than he intended. Ibris only chuckled.

"It's a hostile galaxy out there; standing up to the protoss for the Council would be a surefire way to insure their survival." Ibris stood before another blast door, this one even stronger looking than the last. "She's waiting for you on the other side."

"The queen?" Ibris did not respond, only opened the door and waited, arms folded. _Something's not right … but could it honestly be worse than the zerg slaughtering everybody?_ Liara only urged him to proceed. _Take a deep breath…_

The door screamed shut behind him. Valerian's heart pounded with frantic ferocity as he looked around. There, in a great tank in the center of the room, something massive stirred. To his left, the raging Noveria storm, visible through a window. Finally, a nearby small flight of stairs led up to a series of consoles before him, and before the consoles-

"So – where the hell have you been?" Nova sat in a chair with one foot pulled back and planted close to her, another spinning her back and forth gently as she turned it. She smiled with little humor at Valerian, her powered suit seeming to pulse with his heartbeat. She stood suddenly and vaulted down the side of the steps, standing before Valerian who could only gape. "What? You didn't think people wouldn't send out word that you'd been sighted again? Have you any idea what your absence has done?"

 _No … no, this isn't good._

Nova scowled at him. "You're normally an easy read … how're you pushing me back?" She stepped closer, fists balling. "Say something, damn it!"

 _Liara … what do I do?_ There was no response. _All she can do is hold her back … it would take physical intervention to do anything more. Liara – please…_

"The crates." Nova was now speaking into her headset. "Have you scanned them? What are in the crates?" By the way her jaw tightened, Valerian guessed she received a prompt and accurate answer.

"Gas them, burn them, whatever, just kill them quickly before they become a problem." Nova shot up a look full of confusion and anger at Valerian. "What in the hell is going on? Valerian? Why are you here, how did you get here, where is Starke, and _why are you trying to sneak zerg inside Peak 15?_ "

"Because the rapidly approaching alternative," said Valerian, knowing his words would probably doom them both, "is that the zerg make a more public entrance. They have a new leader." The back of his neck began to burn, and Valerian uttered a low moan.

Nova's eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong. I can feel it. Explain, quickly. Then we get you out, either back home or somewhere safe. Valerian!" Nova stiffened, looking up. "Oh … shit."

"The Overmind infested an asari," said Valerian dully, not caring any longer if he lived or died, only that Nova gave the best fight of her life, that Liara at least be slowed. "She's here for the rachni. She's capable of controlling zerg, and she's on her way right now. She's got psionics, biotics, and a whole brood of zerg with her, complete with leviathan."

"There's acid tanks linked to the queen's chamber," said Nova, wincing as she did. "Shit … tell her I'm sorry and then empty the tanks. We've got maybe ten s-"

Nova's remaining words became silenced as a deafening bang tore through the relative quiet of the room. The windows all shattered as one as something landed just outside them. Valerian was catapulted backwards with a muffled scream by the impact, and cold so intense it _burned_ filled the room. The dim blue of the room turned stark white.

A purple light shone from the blinding incandescence. Liara strode from the ruin she had made, eyes burning with anger, hands twitching with violent intent. A hydralisk flanked her at either side. Valerian, rapidly becoming numb with the cold, scooted himself backward with his steadily unfeeling legs, trying to put some measure of distance between himself and the Queen of Ruins.

Just as the Queen raised her hand and opened her mouth, she fell backwards, spurts of green blood flecked with red pulsing from fresh wounds. Her wings spread to either side of her and Liara turned to face the defiant Nova, who vanished from sight.

 _The tanks._ Just barely audible over the howling wind were the sound of klaxons, making Valerian certain that help, however hopeless, might be on its way. _And one way or another, Liara, the galaxy will know that the Swarm has returned._ Valerian pushed himself to his feet, nearly fell immediately as his right leg gave way, and then finally began limping his way around the other way, where the fighting was not taking place.

Liara flicked her winglike appendages desperately, sending what looked like small serrated spines with dizzying speed wherever she thought Nova would be. One landed quivering at Valerian's feet, fully embedded in the metal of the floor. _Calm. Stay calm._ He continued his desperate struggle around the other way. He was now about ten feet from the stairs leading to the console.

Nova reappeared atop a hanging light above, the reports of her rifle completely silent amidst the chaos around her. A hydralisk screeched and fell, its brains spilling from its skull as it hit the floor. The other one took a round through the arm, its scythe falling to the floor in an oddly pitiable fashion. Liara paid no mind, instead tearing the light down with biotics, making Nova fade out again.

 _Stairs …_ Valerian struggled up one step, pulling his bad leg with his hand, steadying himself against the railing. His entire body rattled as the cold penetrated every fiber of his being, as the fear gave way to grim resolve. _Not going to walk out of this, I think. May as well die … as an emperor's son. Doing his duty._ Two more steps.

Nova shrieked in pain, and Valerian could only grit his teeth. A sudden blast of heat met his back as the consoles before him lit up with orange, making him turn. A small team of ERCS guards fired wildly into the room. This time, Liara simply screamed.

The rest of the steps flew by madly as Valerian again found himself forced forward by an incredible unseen blast. He collided with the thick window overlooking the rachni queen, his bones crunching and vision blurring with the impact. He slid down, across a computer, and finally hit the floor bereft of strength or dignity. Muzzle flashes lit the now torn up and broken room, but nothing registered really, anymore. As his vision and brain slowly began to link up, he could only still feel dull surprise at what he saw; Nova and Liara locked in a deadly melee.

Nova span and cut with a blade Valerian had never seen her use before, her hair whipping with the wind and every movement. Liara dodged and tore at her with violent biotics, the blue light from her palms blazing through Valerian's eyelids as he shut them. All the while, every bit of debris that either of them could lock on with their minds would suddenly hover and be propelled at one of them with great force. Twice Nova managed to nick Liara, who bled momentarily and snarled, only to recover equally quickly. The door from which the blast emanated now only held stiff dead.

 _The tanks._ It was a sensation Valerian had not felt since the most extreme of his conditioning training back when he fenced regularly. _Have to do it. One last mile. It's 20% body, 80% will. People have already died for your failure. Starke. Helen. How many archeologists now? I can't even keep track._

Slowly, dragging himself up his elbows locked against the console, Valerian ascended. His fingers, stiff with the cold and likely doomed to frostbite, danced against the simple screen.

 _Acid tanks. Activate or cancel?_

"Valerian!"

Valerian could not ignore that cry. His head turned stiffly to the fight he hoped still raged behind him. It did not.

Nova, head bleeding but eyes still defiant, was locked by the Queen's arms, held in place. The Queen's appendages rested at her neck, their serrated edges shining in the snow and ruin.

"Touch those tanks and you both die," said Liara, sounding more out of control and desperate than Valerian had ever heard so far. "Touch those tanks and you doom both rachni and zerg to extinction, and by proxy the rest of the galaxy. Sovereign _feared_ the zerg, Valerian. Feared what they might do. These people saw fit to ally or weaponized the rachni … it's what I am offering, of a sort. Please."

"I'm holding her back," grunted Nova, teeth gritted. "She's trying to pull you over. She's going to kill both of us anyway, Valerian. Hit the button. For the Dominion. For your father."

"Valerian looked back at the computer screen, then through the window and to the being below. For some reason, he had expected that it would somehow remain oblivious to the proceedings … but it only stared back with sad eyes, its appendages reaching for Valerian. _What say does it get?_ It seemed a silly question, but somehow appropriate. _No one here really seems willing to ask the rachni queen its opinion … just use her. As a weapon._ Valerian looked to the two staring women with dead eyes. _But … what would my father do?_

"The zerg will twist the rachni into something horrible," spat Nova. "They'll overrun the galaxy. Both of them have almost done it before. Valerian – I can't hold much longer. Do it!"

Valerian's finger held over the acid tanks, eyes watering from the cold. _Doom two species to extinction … the zerg unable to expand, the rachni forever gone. For the Dominion … but the Dominion is dying._ He giggled. _And they won't even leave ruins behind for archaeologists. Such a funny thing … it's almost like no one know they even survived past their respective wars._ His finger reached for the button. _Father would press the button. Father…_

He looked down at the rachni. Her appendages, previously reaching for the glass, retracted. Her massive body, glowing lights shining along the spine and on the face, seated itself quietly at the bottom of her cage. _Waiting for death._

 _Father would easily and perhaps eagerly condemn two races to death if he thought they threatened him. Liara could have killed me, and did not. And this queen … if the rachni are truly individuals, then perhaps the zerg can adapt that individuality. I am not my father. God help me._

His finger drifted down towards the command to open the cage. He pressed it.

"She's free," yelled back Valerian, voice garbled, tongue sticking against whatever part of his mouth it happened to glance across. The queen now ascended an elevator. "Let her go."

The Queen stared back at him, expression inscrutable. She did not relinquish her grip.

"You have seen far too much and bear far too much hate for me," said Liara simply. "I'm sorry. Please-"

A scream echoed from within the chamber. The rachni queen faced them from the inside of the chamber, her tentacles pointing accusingly at Liara. She pointedly dangled one of her front claws over the edge of the elevator. _She … what?_

"We sing," cried Nova, voice halting and harsh. "We sing of forgiveness, of redemption. To banish the black, we must cling to the gold. Liara, you must not fade."

Liara looked down at Nova, whose head now jerked unsteadily.

"She is a willing vessel," murmured the rachni through Nova. "A meeting of monarchs. We do not march against the blackness to serve a queen so yellow and sour. She must cling to better times, to memories of mother. We would gladly serve such a queen."

"That is not what the galaxy demands!" Liara's voice cracked. "You don't understand … how long we've been running. There is no redeeming our peoples in the eyes of others. All they remember is the carnage. We are monsters."

"Sing a new song," choked Nova, twitching in Liara's grip. "Low notes of forgiveness, of love, of motherhood. Dispel these old screaming songs of the inevitable march to eternity. A great eye quivers in memory, oily black pouring from Its pupil. A great silence preceded it, a great silence followed it. Do not embrace that silence. Cling to the gold."

Valerian slid slowly to the ground, vision fading fast. A brilliant warmth now surged through his body, and the last rational part of him knew that meant he would soon freeze to death. _And … it's not the worst feeling._

"Save them! So that we may rule as mothers, not tyrants!"

Brilliant blue light shone from behind Valerian's eyelids. Something lifted him up, and the warmth began to fade, replaced by blistering, merciless sensation.

He fell then, into the black, the cold coursing through him as people screamed his name. Buildings burned and smoked on the horizon, a tattered red banner swaying in the unseen breeze. A statue of his father loomed above him, a stone finger pointed threateningly in his direction. Slowly, a chip fell from the finger and landed at Valerian's feet. Then the fingertip. Then the whole finger. Slowly, his father collapsed before his eyes, a massive head eventually rolling at Valerian's feet. Then even that collapsed into dust.

"He's going to lose the ring finger!"

Valerian coughed, the back of his neck burning, his ribs aching from the sudden movement. Patches of heat crept through the numb and the pain.

"The Emperor is diverting course … he'll be here within the day."

 _That's right … he was at the Citadel._

The thoughts dissolved then into meaningless images of his father and mother, of Liara and Nova, all intermingling and melting. His right ring finger burned momentarily, and then he fell again, his mind consumed by the exhaustion.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Wrex**


	26. The Future Awaits Us

**Wrex**

From somewhere above, drops of water fell on to the metal below, a soft and steady plinking that made Wrex's eyelids twitch. The murmur of voices from the cantina, located just above the quarters he had staked out for himself, rose in an occasional uproar as the mindless heads on television transmitted yet more sanctioned information for the masses to choke on. _The UED puppet, broadcasting endless loops of victory while failing to mention the price of it? Or the Dominion robot, stuttering and averting his eyes as he promises future counterstrikes that will likely never materialize?_

A man and a woman walked outside his room, making his head turn ever so slightly, eyes still shut. _Jim Raynor. And the Cerberus woman._ They smelled guilty, and the shuffle of their feet reminded Wrex of the movements of certain prey animals on Tuchanka who had strayed into unfamiliar territory. They passed quickly, moving in the direction of what Wrex knew to be Raynor's quarters. _Good for them, I suppose._

Through the hallways, the familiar and by now quite irritating opening notes of the UED's most hated terran song began to play. Wrex opened his eyes and tapped his omnitool. _Six p.m., galactic standard. Close enough._ He had been promised an audience, and now he would have it. The music grew louder. Wrex opened his eyes and rose from the small collection of pillows and blankets he had collected for his corner. _Norad II_ had no beds fit for his size.

Wrex exited his room with the careful ponderousness that a thousand years of life had driven into him, only to blink in surprise at the sight that greeted him. The elcor and the large terran convict walked past him, a large set of speakers mounted on the elcor's back, bumping against both of his flanks as he moved, the terran music blasting a full volume. The two of them paid Wrex no mind as they advanced past him, bound for the hangar in which the _Normandy resided._

 _Steadily escalating culture war. At least it seems mostly in good humor._ The new terrans from Earth seemed severe, mostly humorless, and radiated cold disdain in most of their interactions with the Koprulu-born. _Reminds me of how the turians of the Hierarchy treat those from the Terminus Systems, from the handful of independent colonies. "We're better than you and you people are idiots for leaving the safety of our empire. Listen to us, for we bear the wisdom of the ages…"_ Wrex snorted and headed in the opposite direction.

 _As long as the terrans continue to fight, I will never be out of work._ This thought brought little comfort, however. _When I was three-hundred, I would have rejoiced that such a species existed in the galaxy, a species both warlike and unscrupulous, willing to hire alien mercenaries to participate in endless wars as their empires rose and fell. If I were three hundred, I could have helped Arcturus Mengsk into power and established myself as a battlemaster for the Dominion, serving it until its replacement overthrew it. Then let the process repeat…_

Wrex shook his head, making a passing pair of terrans eye him nervously. _Is that the best fantasy I can come up with these days? Serving as an advisor to a glorified warlord of an alien species? If I were two hundred still, I would not have dared leave Tuchanka. I would have held on to that hope…_

Hope. Now _there_ was an emotion reserved for aliens. _Hope is tied to the future. And you would have to be a fool to believe there was any future for the krogan._ His feet rang against the metal, a far heavier footfall than anyone else on the vessel, save perhaps the elcor. As he began to near the chapel, he could not help but pause briefly as voices emanated from beyond its open doors.

"…eschewed religion on the basis of ongoing regional and global conflicts." _Terran female. One of the Earthers._

"Then what precisely is this fixation on the human spirit, on Earth and its sovereignty over all mankind?" _The older terran. Trome._ "The core of religion is that of explanation, a means of harnessing some degree of control over tumultuous events by rationalizing it as part of some divine plan. In times long past back on Earth, certain peoples within hot and dry regions designated eating shellfish as unclean and unholy; a wise belief, given the propensity for shellfish to become inedible within a matter of hours if not minutes in extremely hot weather."

Wrex stopped just outside the door, hidden behind the stretch of wall just before it. _Not a conversation you hear too often. How do you justify your faith in these times, preacher?_

"So … you're saying the Directorate fixates on human supremacy because it explains the universe to us?" The woman sounded skeptical. "And that's after making the leap that our belief in the human spirit and its inherent strengths constitute a faith in the first place. How did Cyclism come to be, Trome? Can you apply this to your own faith?"

"Heh. Of course." Wrex sensed little trepidation in the preacher. Indeed, from the way he smelled, he seemed to be enjoying the conversation. "In the first century of our stay in this Sector, we spread to every likely looking world we could find. Any sign of vegetation or atmosphere, we snapped it up. Most of these worlds required extensive terraforming, and indeed many would-be colonists ended up dying from exposure as these worlds fought back with their own climate, whether it be extreme temperatures, raging storms, or freak tectonic activity. On the planet on which Cyclism was born, New Pangea, the colonists found to their dismay that they would be forced to contend with all three." Trome suddenly raised his voice. "Now, whoever is waiting outside, feel free to join the conversation."

Wrex grunted, shrugged, and rounded the threshold. The terran woman, Ashley Williams, almost jumped at his appearance. _Not used to me yet, are you?_ Trome raised his eyebrows but expressed no other surprise.

"I did not expect our krogan guest to be so quiet," he said simply, looking Wrex up and down. "Forgive me for saying this, but in the past I have always felt your race to be universally … obstreperous. Violent."

"I'm not surprised." Wrex turned his head and made sure to establish firm eye contact with the chaplain. "I still feel much the same way about terrans."

"We don't weigh eight hundred pounds," said Ashley shortly, folding her arms. "And you're about to see a great deal more civility from the Directorate, more than any colonial government before it." She turned to Trome, who raised a single eyebrow. "Er … no offense."

"I'll remember those words if the Directorate wins," said Trome simply, before sweeping a hand to the empty benches scattered around the room. "Feel free to have a seat. If they can survive Jack's temper tantrums, I am sure they can handle the weight of a krogan."

"I am bound for Okeer," replied Wrex, hands clenching and unclenching. "No time." He paused, thinking. "But … Cyclism?"

"I am sure, given the history of your race, that you will have eschewed most familiar forms of faith." Trome averted his eyes. "I have never looked into krogan beliefs … I am sure they are fascinating … but I doubt someone of your background, an ancient krogan mercenary, would have any use for my ramblings."

"Cyclism," said Wrex firmly. "Earlier I saw an elcor walking around with a speaker system on its back. I'm wondering if this ship has any further surprises for me."

Trome smiled at him, shifting backward and leaning against the bench. He inclined his head.

"Very well," he said, smile not fading. He looked to Williams. "Well … New Pangea consisted of a single supercontinent, and the initial surveys indicated a relatively lush southern coastline where the weather was not quite so severe. Eager to stake a claim on a new frontier, a colony vessel of 5,000 people made haste to establish themselves on the planet. And for the first three months, all went well. Well enough, in fact, that they finally dismantled their relatively ramshackle ship and began creating a proper settlement."

"Let me guess, it ended badly?" Williams's lips twitched as Trome nodded slowly.

"Of course it did. No sooner had they firmly established themselves, the planet went mad. Storms wracked the coast and tore their more makeshift buildings free of their foundations. A great wave born from an enormous earthquake rose from the seas and killed hundreds, leaving the survivors with a ghastly cleanup. They moved further inland only to be confronted with massive raging fires that forced them back to the coast. A colony of 5,000 swiftly found itself reduced to half its number. With no means of leaving the planet and the next wave of colonists scheduled to arrive twenty years from then, the survivors steeled themselves for a struggle."

"Did they begin praying to some deity?" asked Wrex, already growing bored. "Did the disasters stop as a result? Sounds like a pretty typical tale of sapients biting off more than they were prepared for and turning to faith as a result."

"Not quite." Trome flashed him a smile before clearing his throat. "One woman among them, a climatologist by the name of Samia Kostrolva, desperately sought a means of determining the weather patterns. As the rest of the colonists eventually devolved into the primitive worship that Wrex surmised they would, a consequence of their shattered living conditions, isolation, and reduced numbers, she and a small team of likeminded individuals strove to create some semblance of order, to predict the patterns and adapt the behavior accordingly."

"That's all it takes?" Williams sounded disgusted. "Not what the lady was doing, I mean the others. That's all it takes to start creating fetishes out of your own hair and worshipping the sun?"

"Pray you never end up in such desperate conditions, Gunnery Chief," replied Trome, smile gone. "We all possess the same psychology, after all. With no way out, human beings seek any means necessary to secure their own survival and maintain their sanity. Leave this ship drifting and lifeless for a few days and marvel at the barbarism that descends as supplies run low."

"It applies to all sapients," rumbled Wrex, eyeing Trome up and down with slight respect. "It happened to the krogan. Take away a person's future … there's no reason to be reasonable about anything anymore."

"At any rate," continued Trome loudly, winking at Wrex as he began to speak, "Samia eventually did manage to find a method to the ongoing madness, to link the peaks of climate and tectonic activity with the position of the moons, with changes in temperature, with a variety of other measurable factors, but was faced with a fairly serious problem in convincing the remainder of the survivors to go along with her suggestions, to abandon the proclamations of their far more charismatic leader, Istvan Kellerman, who led their sermons and promised salvation, in favor of her approach. Samia, familiar with how violently scared people could react when presented condescending rational explanations delivered by arrogant academics, instead contacted Kellerman himself. She asked him to trust her, and gave him all the data she had on the climate and tectonics, and asked him to take due credit in front of the others … while also taking her on in an advisory capacity, to better allow her to sculpt their beliefs in a manner conducive to their survival."

"Did it work?" Williams actually looked intrigued, having moved her head forward slightly, eyebrows furrowed. _Terrans. Always so expressive._

"It did indeed. From this union of genuine faith and practiced science, Cyclism was born." Trome paused, and then shrugged. "Well, one branch of it. The theistic branch. The next wave of colonists eventually took to the core of it as New Pangea ravaged their numbers and their wits, founding the deist and atheist branches, the latter of which I was born into."

"What's the difference between them?" Wrex resisted the urge to check the time on his omnitool. _Good thing I rose early. They aren't going to give me many opportunities to speak to that madman._ _At least this proved vaguely interesting, even if the boombox elcor still surpasses it._

"All of them hold that within the universe, patterns can be found that explain and predict behavior," said Trome, folding his arms. "If something goes wrong, be it, I don't know, a nuclear spill, an onset of some kind of plague … a sudden invasion … it can be linked to something greater. The people of New Pangea looked beyond their suffering and to the skies, and found the links to the ongoing disasters, the patterns in the seemingly chaotic madness." Trome shrugged. "The only difference between the three branches is that the theists believe that all patterns eventually answer to God and that He will take care of the worst eventually, deists believe that the patterns end with God and He's not going to do anything, and atheists hold that the expanding of the universe, the rotations and collisions of galaxies, and the vastly intelligent lifeforms that preceded us are what we should be examining."

"Does it help?" Williams held steady eye contact with Trome, her query apparently genuine.

"It really depends." Trome rolled his head, making his neck crack. _Terrans. So fragile._ "In times like these, with only conflict promised for the future … it is hard to look to the continued spinning of the galaxy and reassure myself that, if nothing else, all is well because at least the galaxy is still behaving normally. Still, the existence of men like Matt Horner and Jim Raynor certainly help." He looked to Wrex, eyes crinkled. "And I certainly would expect my faith to be strenuously tested in the face of a species wide sterilization. I will not fault you for calling "bullshit" on Cyclism, Wrex."

"I have no quarrel with alien faiths." Wrex cocked his head. "Couldn't you excuse people's actions on the basis of it not interrupting the spin of a galaxy?"

"Of course." Trome smiled, but Wrex sensed sadness. "People already have. People will continue to do so. What does nuking a planet matter in such a grand scheme? How about brainwashing your enemies to fight for you? Unleashing the zerg to topple a government?" Trome fell back again against the side of a pew. "Atheist Cyclists were always favored by the Confederacy for serving as chaplains, sometimes for that very reason. It's not something I'm proud of. Faith can save someone … but it can also shield them from the ramifications of their own actions. I think the gentleman waiting for you would be such an example."

"He's no gentleman. And he's done waiting." He nodded to Trome, offered a small grunt of approval. "I'll see if I can't get a meeting between the two of you. I'm sure the maniac will love being told that his crimes are nothing in the face of the universe's scale."

"No," said Trome, completely still. "Given what I've heard … I think he likes feeling important." _Astute observation._

Wrex exited the church without another word while the two terrans resumed their discussion. He couldn't help but note that Williams had lost any disdainful tone she once possessed. _A sign of respect, if nothing else. Or maybe she's just happy that I'm leaving._

For some reason Wrex felt that it was appropriate that the _Norad II's_ brig was so close to the chapel. It took him only a scant three minutes to arrive before the gray steel doors of the Norad II's surprisingly sizable prison, from which no sound could be heard. The two terrans, both in full armor, waited for him before the entrance.

"It is good to see that you have not forgotten this appointment, Wrex," said the terran known as Duran, his smile reminding Wrex of any number of varren that he had tangled with over the years; the teeth looked white and almost pointed to him. "Especially given that you argued so violently for it to take place. Again, we must remind you to make no violent moves towards the good doctor."

"You smell wrong," Wrex told Duran bluntly, prompting a laugh from the ghost. He looked to Shepard. "Any reason you two were chosen?"

"I was told to be prepared to nonlethally restrain either one of you if your tempers flare," said Shepard, no fear to be smelled on her at all. She flicked her wrist, causing three syringes glowing a faint green to pop from her suit. "I really hope it does not come to that."

Wrex grunted, looked again to the ghost. "You?"

"If the nonlethal option fails … that is why I am here." Duran's smile only widened, but Wrex caught a glint of something very predatory in his eyes. "I am sure there will be no need for any unpleasantness, however."

 _Cross me at your own peril, brute._ Wrex resisted the urge to react to this sudden intrusion. He looked to Duran with narrowed eyes, and Duran only smiled back. _Your species … even more primitive than most. Do not force my hand._

Wrex bared his teeth and stomped past them. The door opened without fuss, and Wrex entered, followed closely by the two terrans, Shepard clunking along in her massive armor, Duran making not a sound.

Okeer occupied the very last cell, sitting cross-legged in the center. He watched the three of them approach with absolutely no expression on his face, his eyes reserved solely for Wrex. The two terrans stopped before the door and took up a position on either side of it while Wrex and Okeer stared at one another, waiting to see who would make the first move.

"I anticipated a visit from you, Wrex," said Okeer, his voice smooth and condescending. "The things you saw on Korlus … did it anger you? Make you feel some semblance of fear in your deadened hearts? I trust you burned it all, aside from my prized prototype."

"We leveled the facility," said Wrex. "I only wish you had still been inside as it went up in flames."

"A temporary setback." Okeer cocked his head. "I have lost everything before, but rebuilt in time. Before Korlus, there was Tuchanka. The zerg experiments there … I will admit to being perhaps overzealous. I do not fault the clans for chasing me out, given the horrors they must now contend with. And such an experience only made me stronger, proved that I could survive even without the backing of my people." Okeer chuckled. "I would say we are alike, in that fashion."

"I did not turn my back on what it meant to be krogan." Wrex brought himself near the door, staring through the bars, pushing his face forward far enough to be able to see the thin beams of energy that interlaced the metal barriers. "I left Tuchanka because I did not wish to kill any more of my own people. You were chased out because you would not stop."

Okeer stood with a grunt, and Wrex released with a slight pang of anger that the doctor stood taller than him. Okeer strode forward, now standing less than a foot from the door. He stared at Wrex with a condescending smile playing on his lips.

"You are of a newer generation of krogan, Wrex, so I will forgive your ignorance." Okeer's voice took on a much colder tone. "I was not born on Tuchanka; I was born after the Uplift, on a far lusher world than the one my father and grandfather grew up in. I fought in the Krogan Rebellions, even as I recognized the folly of it, even as I begged the Clan Leaders to reconsider. I have seen what we were before the rachni ruined us, before the Council turned us into simple brutes. You were born during the Rebellions, the last brood of an afflicted mother, correct?" Okeer did not wait for a response. "Yes, I recall her face. You were born into a generation of krogan without the benefit of winnowing. On Tuchanka, before the Uplift, only one in a thousand krogan lived. On the planet on which I was born, Dulcinea, all thousand survived under the oversight of the salarians, who needed every krogan possible to stop the rachni."

"You going somewhere with this?" Wrex bared his teeth. "I didn't come here to listen to your prattle, Okeer."

"My point is that the krogan have long labored under a culture created by the salarians," said Okeer impatiently. "They crafted warriors, because warriors are all they sought. While our species has always possessed a violent temperament – the ongoing nuclear winter is of our own doing, do not let anyone convince you otherwise – we still produced as many craftsmen and scientists as we did warriors. The salarians excised these "undesirable traits" in favor of crafting a perfect army, and did nothing to rehabilitate us once the rachni were dead." Okeer snorted. "Is it any surprise the new krogan, having known only violence, sought another war to fight? So many krogan these days place the blame on the Genophage, when in truth it was the Uplift that ruined us."

"Are you somehow exempt?" Wrex growled, his face growing ever closer to the cell, to Okeer. "You were born after the Uplift."

"I can count on one hand the number of krogan who lived directly after the last generation of true krogan," replied Okeer, voice growing quiet. "Before, every one of us was valuable. Like the asari, we put years into our craft of choice. Now, all we have are the likes of you; the battlemasters. And while our numbers have again been reduced, it is not at the hands of Tuchanka, as was intended, forging a race of survivors, but instead because of a plague, against which there is no resistance." Okeer rolled his head. "Surviving as a true krogan was a rite of passage; it meant that in addition to whatever talent you honed on your own, you could survive on the most hostile of worlds. Now, all one has to do is be lucky enough to be born, and the clans coddle you into the next stage of existence. I think you can acknowledge that this is a flawed way for a species to develop, yes? A race of victims?"

"For a race of victims, we spend a great amount of time killing one another." Wrex stepped backward. "So … your solution to being a "race of victims" is to graft zerg DNA into us?"

"I confess I adhered to a flawed methodology," said Okeer. "I hoped that implementing such DNA would serve as an appropriate stopgap, a means of curing the Genophage and getting the clans to quit their whining long enough for me to assume command and save our species. But I underestimated the potency of the creatures." Okeer shook his head. "The zerg cured the Genophage … but what was left afterward could not truly be called krogan. They were worthy soldiers to be sure, but they could never be anything else. You need not fear any more research in that direction."

"So … that prototype – he's clean?"

"He is what we should be," replied Okeer with a wide smile. "Educated. Introspective. Strong. I look forward to finally taking him under my tutelage proper, educating him in the ways of my father." _Hmm._

"Why did you come here, Wrex?" asked Okeer suddenly, pressing himself against the door, staring down at Wrex with inquisitive eyes. _He does not smell of fear either._ "Despite my imprisonment, I know we are on the same side. The UED seeks a revival of our species. You are to be the new leader, correct? The UED's liaison to the rejuvenated clans?"

"Yes." Wrex shifted his feet. "I came here to tell you … if you step out of line and experiment on any more krogan without the explicit permission of myself and the subject … you die."

"How unexpected." Okeer shrugged. "I have received similar threats before. I rather thought that was to be a tacit understanding between us … but very well. Feel free to make the attempt, should it come to pass."

"I'm also opening the tank," continued Wrex, "and claiming the krogan within as a member of clan Urdnot."

Okeer's fist slammed against the bars of the cage, smashing through the metal and bouncing off the net of energy behind it. Shepard yelled as she and Duran rounded on the cage, weapons trained on the snarling krogan doctor within.

"You wouldn't dare!" screamed Okeer from within, his uninjured hand now clutching the other, smoke curling up from between the knuckles. "Wrex … years of work went into him. Don't you dare."

"You will learn your place, Okeer," said Wrex, trying to suppress a massive smile. "This is the last time you will speak to me as an easily dismissed equal. The future of the krogan rests with the Directorate … and myself." His fists clenched and unclenched. "The path our species walks … we cannot continue to be known only as warriors. But I've seen the road you walk, and it is madness." He turned to Shepard. "Let's go." _And you, Duran … you can go somewhere else._

"Wrex..." growled Okeer, but Wrex was already gone, his hearts feeling light in his chest. From the clanging footsteps behind him, he knew Shepard was following.

"That's all you wanted to do?" she asked, sounding unimpressed. "Just impress on him that you're in charge?"

"I needed to hear his justifications for myself." _True krogan … how many times have I heard that phrase? My father used it. Wreav used it. And now here's Okeer, using it again. It never seems to have a happy outcome._ "He's insane. The UED should space him."

"Geniuses tend to be mad." Shepard did not sound moved. "I am told that krogan scientists are uncommon. I don't think we're going to find you a suitable replacement."

"Find some bleeding heart salarian." Wrex resisted the urge to spit, instead increasing his pace. "They're the ones who could undo the damage. Right or left?"

"Left." Shepard paused. "Any reason you wanted me along for this?"

"With you at my side, I can fight forever." Wrex sniffed and continued left. "Those nanomachines … I thought the CMC made fights too easy. And besides, you've got a quad on you. You don't fear me like the rest of the Earthers. Well, the pilot has little fear too, I suppose. The point being that he will inevitably work with terrans; your species has decided to invest in our future." He clicked his tongue. "It may as well be a terran I feel is worthwhile."

"Thank you." Shepard sounded genuinely flattered. She paused briefly. "I've always wanted to meet aliens. There was a brief silence as they marched onward.

"Your engineer … Alenko?" Wrex rolled his tongue in his mouth, the words unfamiliar. "He has recovered, I hope?"

"Chakwas attached some metal replacements," replied Shepard, pace slowing slightly. "He's still in a bit of shock, but he'll be fighting fit soon enough. Thank you for your concern." Silence fell again, briefly. "Did you attend the funeral of those two firebats?"

"I didn't know them." Wrex resisted the urge to turn around and see Shepard's reaction.

"Right…" _I've seen thousands of people die over the course of my life, Shepard. I'm not about to get worked up over a pair of aliens._ "Any recommendations for tackling Okeer's boy?"

"He's my boy now." Wrex halted before the sealed blast doors behind which the Raiders had stored the tank on the orders of Captain Anderson. "How thick is your visor?"

"In technical terms, it's pretty fucking thick."

"Head-butt him if he gets uppity." Wrex could not be bothered to say anything more. He waved at the camera in the corner, which swiveled with his movements. "Captain. Open the door."

Horner must have been waiting for Wrex, because the door opened immediately after Wrex gave the order. He stared into the dim lighting beyond. A pale glow emanated from the right of the door.

They entered together, the two of them about equally as heavy and wide. _These Earthers like the smaller armors … except for the medics._ Shepard turned to Wrex and smiled, flicking out the needles again.

"Ready?"

Wrex sealed the door behind them, making sure it was locked. Then, he took a good long look at the tank and the specimen within.

"Crest isn't fully formed." Wrex circled the tank, inspecting each aspect of the krogan. "Blue eyes. Rare on a krogan. Small, though. Probably ready for the Rite soon enough, once he's up."

"Translation for alien scum?" When Wrex turned to Shepard, it was to find her examining the tank with interest.

"He's young, basically an adolescent in your terms." Wrex turned back to the tank. "It means he'll be … rambunctious. But there's no telling what lies Okeer has been feeding him. The tank has been his only stimulus … all he knows about the world stems from Okeer."

"Teenagers are rebellious," said Shepard. "He might not care about whatever crap Okeer's been feeding him. How rambunctious are we talking?"

"The first thing he will want to do is figure out who among us is in charge." Wrex turned his head and offered Shepard a huge grin. "That means he will try to kill us."

Shepard returned Wrex's smile. "Great! So should I just flashbang him when he comes out, or…?"

"You will teach him respect for terrans, something Okeer is solely lacking." _Not without reason._ Wrex licked the outside of his mouth. "No tricks. If you have to floor him with a punch to get his attention, do it. It is important that we assert our authority."

"You make him sound more like an animal to be trained than a person."

"Don't try to see this through a terran lens, Shepard," snapped Wrex, planting his hands on the tank and feeling how cool it was. He slipped his right hand towards the console, tapped it twice. The tank instantly warmed. "We are krogan. This is our way."

A small klaxon sounded as the tank began to run with fluid. The krogan inside, frozen for who knew how long, stirred, woken at last from his forced sleep. Wrex backed up as the tank drained on to the floor, dripping through the cracks in the tiling. The krogan, the son he would pry from Okeer, fell to his knees and coughed up fluid.

 _Now, whelp, it is time you understood your place in things._

With a grunt, the krogan stood unsteadily, its bleary eyes slowly focusing. Wrex could not help but notice that his gaze was fixated on himself and Shepard, darting to and fro between them. With a rolling growl, the krogan tensed and charged, his neck and shoulder braced for heavy impact.

Wrex shifted to the side and met the krogan's face with a fist, bowling him over. The krogan fell with a clatter and a choked groan, sliding to Shepard's feet. The krogan tried to rouse himself almost immediately, only for Shepard to plant a foot firmly on his chest. Her whole weight braced on to the krogan, she brought her own face, visor up, close to the krogan.

"See me?" Wrex watched, impressed, as Shepard waited for the krogan's eyes to focus on her own face. The moment the krogan looked ready to lunge, the visor slammed down, and Shepard brought her head back … and then forward. Despite himself, Wrex winced at the sound the impact made.

Wrex crossed to where the krogan lay, grunting in pain, and slowly pulled the whelp to his feet. To his slight relief, the crest remained intact, and while a bruise clearly swelled where his own fist had met the krogan's face, the tankbred looked otherwise unharmed.

"We have asserted ourselves, whelp," uttered Wrex, releasing his hold on the fledgling's shoulder and letting him stand on his own. "Do you have a name?"

"I am a legacy," replied the krogan immediately, surprising Wrex at the speed. His voice sounded harsh yet refined. _Taught by Okeer. At least it is an education, however twisted._ "The tank taught me. I was to be a number, the first. A name was inappropriate – such a designation is to be given at birth. I was not yet born." The fledgling stared at Wrex, then at Shepard. "A terran? Why?"

"Do you have a problem with terrans?" Shepard smiled widely, and again flicked out the needles. The tankbred took a step back. "I'm a special breed, honey. Look up Earth."

"Long lost homeworld," muttered the fledgling. "Irrelevant, far distant. Yet you – you are from Earth?" He shook his head. "Already I press beyond the limit of the tank's teachings. Who are you? Where is Okeer?"

"Okeer is imprisoned." Wrex pounded his fists together. "A specimen as fine as you, even birthed through science rather than a mother? Okeer does not deserve you. And if you are, somehow, the future of the krogan, I do not intend to put you in Okeer's hands."

"So … already his mission is a failure, and his research is in the hands of aliens and traditionalists." The krogan shrugged irritably. "Why am I not surprised? The Tank Mother was always so … preachy. Dogmatic. Yet my blood still boils." His head twisted, looking from Wrex to Shepard, three times. "I need enemies. I have no use of Okeer's teachings, but I was born of his works. If I am to have an identity, I need something to fight."

"There will be plenty of fights," grunted Wrex, taking a step forward and leering down at the tankbred. "The galaxy is at war. And we're on the instigating side."

The krogan hesitated, then looked to the terran. "You … you are not krogan. You have no knowledge, no interest in our affairs. Tell me – if I follow him, what enemies will I face?"

Shepard sighed, stepped forward, and reared her head back again. Wrex stepped back as the two of them collided, feeling a stab of anger.

"Salarians, turians, asari, other terrans, protoss, maybe zerg, who knows?" she said irritably as the krogan struggled to stand. "The point is – choose the other side, and _I_ will be your enemy. Got it?"

"Yes," replied the tankbred, suddenly laughing. "Yes! Okeer dismissed the terrans. Yet more folly on his part. I like this one. Are there others onboard?"

"Onboard this ship are some of the hardest terrans you can find," rumbled Wrex, nodding in approval to Shepard. _Fast learner. I just hope you didn't rattle his brain._ "Raynor's Raiders. What does Okeer have to say about them?"

The krogan thought briefly. Then he smiled, his blunt white teeth gleaming in the dark.

"I _like_ this," he said suddenly sounding outright gleeful. "Yes. I will fight for these Raiders, for you."

"You will eventually need a clan," said Wrex. "Until you have a clan, you cannot serve under a battlemaster. But know this; I, Urdnot Wrex, will provide you with the future Okeer never could. And she, Commander Shepard of the United Earth Directorate, will speak on your behalf to the shadowy overseers that now batter the Koprulu Sector into submission. Together, we will serve as the vanguard of the krogan future."

" _Your_ name?" Shepard voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and pointed. The krogan gawped at her, grunting in surprise. "Grunt? Is that your fucking name?" _I fear for any children this woman ever raises._

"Grunt?" The krogan sounded appalled, before bringing a hand to his head and murmuring. "Hmm." He looked to Wrex. "That is all I was ever intended to be. It will do, I shall have to add to it as time goes on."

"You want to be named Grunt?" Shepard shook her head. She looked to Wrex. "Is this another case of "look at it through alien eyes?" Because I wouldn't name my dog Grunt."

"Dog – terran domesticated animal," the krogan muttered. "Okeer says they are delicious."

"Nevermind." Shepard threw up her armored hands. "He wants to eat dogs and be known as Grunt, that's his business. We done here?"

"Yes." Wrex looked to the door, then back to Grunt. "You will need to be introduced to the Raiders. Remain here until I return. If any crew come in, do not fight them. They will kill you swiftly, and you will be deprived of greater glory. Heed my words, and I will lead you into the greatest battles the galaxy has to offer." _My words … a far cry from my conversation with Hock just weeks ago. How quickly I have bestirred myself from my torpor._ He grinned at Grunt, who returned the grin, a little unsteady. _He's been floored three times in the last ten minutes. No wonder he is a little dizzy._

"Grunt – stay." Shepard made sure to make eye contact. "I mean it."

"Are all terrans like this?" Grunt asked, sounding bewildered. "They need the suits to be mighty. Are they cowards outside of them?"

"You can direct all your terran-related questions to me, whelp," snarled Shepard, making Wrex turn his head and watch. "Would you ask me about krogan? Why ask a krogan about terrans? Well? Speak up!"

Grunt opened his mouth and shut it. Then, he gave a low series of chuckles.

"All terran questions go to Shepard," he said, nodding. "Will you be back?"

"I'm definitely not done with you just yet."

"Good." Grunt seemed contented. "I will await your return."

Wrex waited outside the door while Shepard joined him, closing the door behind her. They strode away about twenty feet before she burst out laughing.

"That was … so cool!" She looked back at the door. "Oh, man … I've seen Williams chew out Jenkins just for the hell of it like nine times now … tried to base it off that. And he loved it! I've got a baby alien hanging off my every word!"

"Is that … something you've always wanted?" _Starting to regret bringing this maniac along. These terrans are clearly insane._

"I didn't realize it until now." She smiled up at him. "Wow. Yeah. I guess so. I'll teach him all about Earth and the colonies. I'll uh, try to be objective."

 _Objectivity is not the Earther's strong suit._ Wrex still said nothing.

"We should be reaching Halcyon soon," she continued, sounding breathless. "Think Grunt will want to see it? The fighting's mostly over, but it'll be a nice prelude, I think, to when we can take him to a proper one."

 _Already so invested. Still … it's strangely heartwarming._ Wrex stared at Shepard. "I'll talk to Horner and Raynor. Right now … I need to speak with your Vice Admiral. Take me to the _Normandy._ "

"Right. Yeah. Tell him I said-" Shepard caught herself, apparently remembering where she was. She coughed. "Of course. I'll get you onboard."

They heard the kerfuffle long before they saw it. Shepard opened her mouth to speak as they approached, before gritting her teeth and purpling with rage. From the hangar, "Sweet Home Alabama" played at teeth-rattling volume, both speakers mounted on Xeltan's back throbbing with the noise.

"Why?!" screamed Shepard at Tychus and Xeltan, who openly laughed at her. "This isn't fucking funny!"

"Witty rebuttal: yes it is."

Swearing venomously, Shepard ignored the two of them and proceeded up the _Normandy_ ramp while Wrex glowered at the pair of them and followed her. Behind the airlock, the cacophony turned into a series of low vibrations.

"EDI!" called Shepard. "EDI! Can you hear me? Code Jericho: the bastards are at it again."

"Burning out the circuits," replied the AI, sounding bored. "Alerting Captain Horner of the disturbance. Is there anything else?"

"Prep QEC for Wrex," Shepard snapped, her anger sounding quite genuine this time around. "Vice Admiral Stukov wishes to speak with him."

"Acknowledged."

Shepard angrily motioned for Wrex to follow again. The two of them proceeded into the depths of the cramped ship, finally arriving at a dark room with a ceiling far too narrow for Wrex's tastes, a large table occupying the bulk of it.

"Gonna get out of this suit and then hunt down Tychus Findlay," growled Shepard. "I'll see if I can't get him and Grunt acquainted. I'll let the Captain know that he's down there too, while I'm at it. Hate to scare the shit out of someone if they wander in there to find a krogan staring at them. Best of luck."

She lightly clapped Wrex on the shoulder and departed, idly whistling the first few notes of the accursed song before stopping and swearing under her breath. _Terrans._

"AI," he said, feeling strange about addressing it. "Is it ready?"

"Linking you now, Wrex." _It knows my name._

The center of the table lit up, revealing the glowing form of Alexei Stukov, hat slightly askew, heaving with some kind of exertion. He still smiled brightly at Wrex.

"Urdnot Wrex," he said, inclining his head. "I apologize if I appear somewhat disheveled. I am on the surface of Halcyon, and it has yet to fully calm down. I hear that you played a large role in acquiring Okeer on Korlus?"

"You should space him," said Wrex bluntly.

Stukov shrugged. "If it comes to that, I am told Duran would love to do it. But as it stands, he is as necessary for our plans to succeed as you are. The krogan need a leader … but they also need as much medical expertise as we can muster. When he runs out of uses, I will be sure to let you know; when that comes to pass, you may do to him as you see fit. Acceptable?"

Wrex grunted. He knew his response didn't really matter. Stukov still nodded, as if satisfied.

"Good. We are entering the final stages of our operations against the Terran Dominion. This of course means that the next stage, which involves the krogan heavily, will soon follow. I trust that the Raiders have kept you sufficiently entertained until now?" He did not wait for a response. "I promised Mr. Raynor that his crew would participate in Mengsk's downfall, but I am afraid I cannot risk you. You will remain behind the lines-"

"No." Wrex stated the word as flatly as he could. "I intend to earn my keep. You will need every soldier … and if the clans ever learned that I passed on the opportunity to do battle at Korhal, my rule will end before it begins."

Stukov opened and shut his mouth. His eyes narrowed, and any trace of warmth fled from his eyes.

"Very well," he snapped, making Wrex smile in satisfaction. "I will find some use for you, if I can." He turned his head. "Yes, I am linking you all in."

Raynor appeared, blinking, next to Stukov. His hair looked decidedly messy, and his eyes darted to and fro. "Hey Wrex. Aboard the _Normandy_ , right?"

"Wrex has just convinced me that he should assist with _Norad II's_ ground operations," said Stukov, obviously quite unhappy about it. "As a result, the pair of you will now be speaking with Admiral DuGalle, who will brief the both of you on what he expects. I must return my attention to Halcyon for now." He inclined his head, holding his cap in place. "Best of luck."

The Vice Admiral faded, replaced by a taller, much more composed figure. Wrex watched the UED admiral with a small amount of trepidation. The way he stared down his nose at Wrex reminded him far too much of certain birds of prey.

"So you're the Admiral?" Raynor sounded impressed. "Jim Raynor. Pleasure to meet you at last."

"Admiral Gerard DuGalle," replied the admiral, inclining his head. "I have heard much about you, Mr. Raynor. I am pleased to hear that our faith in you and your men has not been misplaced. And … Wrex, correct?"

"Urdnot Wrex," said Wrex. "I'll be participating in your attack."

"Indeed? Very well." DuGalle sniffed. "At present, we are unprepared to take Korhal. Mengsk is currently en route back to the planet, having apparently recovered his son from who-knows-where. The fleet guarding Relay 119 has abandoned their position to safeguard the pair of them on their way home. We are diverting a sizable portion of our forces to secure the relay and begin preparations on the KMC border. Korhal won't be under assault for another month."

"But it's on the timetable, right?" Raynor nodded after DuGalle confirmed it. "Good. I'll be there when the time comes."

"The Hegemony has dispatched its fleet through their Waygate," continued DuGalle, prompting Wrex's hearts to actually skip a beat. Raynor whistled. "They are fully committed. Warfield is now staring down two fleets, and it is unclear whether he will press the offensive to Moria or return to Korhal. Until it is clear, I require the _Norad II_ to play pirate and harass their rear; I have received only glowing recommendations of your helmsman. I will be placing four _Columbus_ battlecruisers under his command. Are the Raiders prepared to accept such a mission?"

"Seems so weird that we were fightin' KMs on Moria not too long ago." Jim shrugged. "If Matt's okay with it … sure. Not gonna object to makin' sure Mengsk gets his. Anything else?"

"I am assembling a team composed of the _Normandy's_ ground complement and a few other hopefuls," continued DuGalle, looking at Wrex and then back to Raynor. "They will be putting themselves in a considerably compromising position in the process; one of them has already decried the operation as a suicide mission. I will need the best to dig them out. I am looking to the Raiders … and Wrex, if he is willing … to perform a high orbit drop into the middle of Augustgrad." He stared unblinking at the pair of them. "The mission will be critical. It will expose Mengsk and the Council to the galaxy once and for all. You will be landing directly next to the central broadcasting station of UNN."

"You get that data decrypted?" asked Raynor. DuGalle's lips thinned, but he still nodded. "Right. Well … hell. I'm up for it. Wrex?"

"High orbit drop into the middle of the Dominion capital?" Wrex laughed. "It'll be quite the bonding experience." DuGalle did not know what to make of that, but nevertheless seemed pleased at the assent.

"Very good," he murmured, pressing his hands together. "Very good … I will send you all the details and provide the battlecruisers once you reach Halcyon." He pressed his lips together. "Aliens and colonials … I have been taught to expect very little of you both. However, seeing the state of the galaxy firsthand, I cannot help but feel you have both been undersold by the Directors back on Earth. In this battle, I hope to cement our allegiances and forge a better future for all of us." He tipped his hat. "Before this is all over, I hope to have dinner with both you and Captain Horner, Mr. Raynor. At the very least, it will be something to tell my children about. The future awaits us."

The Admiral faded, and Jim sucked in a deep breath.

"He's givin' us shit to do at least," he said. "And that one … he don't seem as bad as the Vice Admiral. You excited about all this?"

Wrex thought to Okeer, to Grunt, to Shepard and the way the galaxy fell apart around them. _The krogan … irrelevant for so long. The protoss sitting in the Citadel, trying to dictate order while everyone goes to war. The batarians are invading the Koprulu Sector …_ His hearts began to stir.

 _Yes. Yes! How can anybody not be excited? The Terran Dominion is poised to fall, and the krogan will rise in its wake alongside the Directorate. I will descend upon Tuchanka with Grunt at my side, and a battle cry on my lips._

 _For the first time in centuries … I am truly glad to be alive at this moment._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**

 **A/N: This is the last chapter before literally EVERYTHING goes to hell. And even if little happened, it covers some important themes. We will be seeing more of Wrex as things go on.**

 **Anyway, soon. Korhal.**


	27. Father and Son

**Valerian**

Valerian stared at himself in the mirror, the first time he had done so in weeks. _It doesn't look nearly as bad as everyone thinks. The most shocking thing is the hair._ Valerian shook his head, watching the short straight locks follow his motion. _And if the most striking thing about my appearance right now is the haircut…_

That was not entirely true, however. A long scar now ran down the left side of his neck, a souvenir left by a shard of something, glass or rock, that had been ejected past him in the wake of Liara's landing. And then, moving the hair aside on his right, a patch of discolored flesh, scars left by the frostbite. Then looking down at the hands…

 _It's not so bad._ In a way, it had been fascinating. Valerian had heard of the phenomena of phantom pain in the past, of severed portions of the body still reporting distress even once removed, and he could not help but inwardly examine every throb of agony as it came about. Of course, he had done this while screaming.

Valerian wiggled the rough stump of his left ring finger, laughing softly. _The pain fades. Now I just have to deal with being disfigured._ Father, naturally, had assured him that this was a temporary state of affairs, much like his haircut. They would find some means of dealing with the afflicted tissue on his neck, both the regular scar and the frostbite-inflicted one, and he would be made whole once more. _Because my image is so important to him … I have to appear strong and whole. Ready to assume his place should the worse come to pass._

 _And day by day, that is looking more and more likely._

Valerian stretched and turned, facing the rest of his room. Unlike most of the Augustgrad palace, which maintained an opulent and imperial style of architecture and furnishings at every corner, Valerian preferred to keep his little corner … different. In a word, Umojan. _Because in truth, Umoja is where my heart will always lie._

A model of the science vessel he had designed, the Kurzweil, sat atop his deskside, a pair of actual books lying beside them. His bed was still unmade and he could not work up the energy to care, walking towards it only to stare at the sweat-stained sheets with a frown on his face. _Haven't been sleeping well._ He had tried drawing the things he had seen in his dreams, to process just what his brain was making of the entire zerg affair. The result stood on the easel outside on the balcony.

Valerian liked to leave the doors open to let in what little breeze there was. He strode out on to the balcony and ignored the easel for a moment, instead focusing on what was becoming of his father's city. _And it is_ his _city. It would not stand if not for his ascension._

The sun hung low on the horizon, slowly casting everything into a burnt orange. The buildings all looked cooked in the lighting, their shadows trailing long and dark behind them like the remnants of a person caught in a nuclear blast. Outside the city walls, barely visible from Valerian's vantage point, the endless deserts of Korhal stretched on and on, a sea of fused glass and melted plastic mixing freely with the red sand.

But below, in the streets, life could still be seen. The people of Korhal still went about their business to the best of their ability, even in the face of a curfew (swiftly approaching) and an invasion the likes of which they had never seen (nigh imminent.) Shielding his eyes from the sun, Valerian could just barely see the bread line on Central Street, still stretching almost a mile long from the primary shelter in Augustgrad. He pursed his lips. _Still here, even so late in the day._ _I cannot help but wonder whether tomorrow they will still line up, even as Augustgrad burns around them. Their dedication is somewhat admirable … but mostly disturbing._

In days now past, Valerian had found it cheering to stare upon Augustgrad and marvel at his father's accomplishments. Whatever else he had done, here at least he had managed to create something, something great, even. He had partially undone one of the greatest injustices of the Confederacy. _Now … it's all coming apart._ Valerian set his jaw and returned to his easel, staring at his work with arms folded.

Liara, back appendages extended, eyes blazing, stared back at him. Shattered glass and raging winds surrounded her, as well as the rough outline of a hydralisk on either side. _Need to look up pictures for that. And I'm not sure I'm ready. Or even willing._

Valerian had shown Nova his work, before she left on God-knew-what errand for his father.

"I want you in this picture," he had said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and trying not to stare at her own new haircut, at the fresh scars on her jaw and above her left eye. "The light holding back the dark. I don't know. Something to focus on when I sleep." He had immediately blushed at that, unaware of the innuendo. _I just meant … in the nightmares._ Nova, in typical form, only gave him a mocking smile.

"What, you want to have me swooning on the balcony while you paint me?" She shook her head. "Would love to, but can't. Your father has need of me somewhere else, and asking him for time for you to … paint me … isn't really an option. Sorry, kiddo." She had checked to see if anyone was at the door and then ruffled his hair good-naturedly. "Maybe when I get back."

Three days later, here Valerian was, and there was no sign of one of the Dominion's single greatest remaining assets against the Directorate. _Father … I hope you had damn good reason for what you did._

He closed the doors behind him this time, and sat on his bed, staring at the pair of books. _Figures the asari would stick to producing physical copies as well as digital ones._ He picked up the one with the yellow cover, eyeing the author's name. _Liara T'soni. I wish I had read your work before I met you … what was left of you … in person._ A small purple bookmark protruded from the middle of the book, on a chapter dedicated to implementation of inusannon architecture into prothean buildings, outlining in detail the evidence of the finding. _Extraordinary. It opened up an entire other line of research when it was published._

Perhaps it was obsession, but Valerian could not stop trying to link the dead Liara, the one that fell during the Great War, with the _thing_ that had imprisoned him in the literal belly of a whale. _I still cannot believe it, honestly. In the same circumstances … what would become of me?_ He shivered. _What will become of me, now that I am the victim of Liara, herself a victim? She repeated Sovereign's crimes … is that to be my fate, years down the line, if I am emperor of a shattered realm?_ He shook his head. _It does not bear thinking about._

Someone knocked hard at the door, making it shake slightly on its hinges. _Duke, no doubt. The man understands subtlety well enough, he just has no patience for it._ Valerian rose from his bed with a grimace, but tried to open the door with a smile. Duke stared at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"Valerian," he said gruffly, shaking Valerian's hand with a reassuring firmness. "It's prep time. One last speech before the damn skies go black. Still feelin' up to it?"

"I gave Father my word that I would help him." _No matter how terrible I might feel … or indeed, no matter how terrible I might look. How long did they say the makeup would take again?_ He scratched the back of his neck, and then, far more gingerly, the stump. "I do not intend to take back that word. I am ready."

"Alright then." Duke turned and brusquely motioned for Valerian to follow. "Can't imagine what you've been through, son. Don't think there's anyone else alive who has."

 _Liara, technically._ Valerian doubted Duke would understand that line of thinking, however. So Valerian made some vaguely affirmative noises and continued onward down the halls of stone and steel.

"Coordinating the damn defense is provin' to be one hell of a nightmare," complained Duke, turning back to Valerian with a concerned expression on his face. "Ignorin' the refugees streaming in all over the sector and all over the planet, we've turned up no less than a dozen Cerberus or UED agents wanderin' about Augustgrad." He stopped and stepped toward Valerian, bringing his head in close. "Last night they made a bid to disable the southwest ion cannon … you know. The big one. Only got spotted at the last minute. Your daddy given you any kind of idea of the shit we're in?"

"If you need to vent, I am listening." Duke's eyes crinkled at that, and his lips twitched.

"You really ain't your daddy's boy," said Duke, after quickly checking behind him. "You say you intend to keep your word, you're willin' to listen to an old general bitch about the job bein' handed to him … what next? You gonna bring Tarsonis back to life?"

Valerian shrugged. "I am sure there would be some who would appreciate that." _That's not as backwards as you think it is, Duke. Father is working to bring his own world back to life as we speak … he revives planets as readily as he destroys them._ "I like to think that I am my own man."

"Not a bad thing to be," said Duke, smiling. Then he turned on his heel and began to continue. "Anyway, things goin' wrong…" He paused briefly, thinking. "We got basically no support from the Council or the protoss; Umojans and a few of their asari are here in decent force, but the bulk of 'em are held back to wait for the inevitable UED and turian advance on their own borders. So I don't got much to work with, and the folks we do have don't want much to do with me."

"Father made a great many enemies in the pursuit of his throne," said Valerian. "I suppose today is the day he must finally reckon with his actions."

"You wanna say that to his face?" Duke didn't sound like he disagreed, however. "Planet is crawlin' with UED and Cerberus agents, like I said, and it would be far easier to root 'em out if Nova were still about. But no, she's needed for "something else," I get told, and I have to make do with whatever leavings the Ghost Academy has to spare."

"Dad didn't tell you where Nova is going either?" _Then … where the hell did she go?_

"I don't think he even told the woman himself just what he had in mind." Duke ground his teeth, audible even from about a foot behind him. "She took it in stride well enough; never seen a colder set of nerves on anyone. I'm just hopin' we get her back soon."

"But how are you doing?" Duke sniffed and turned at the question, a confused expression on his face. "Physically, I mean. How do you feel?"

Duke narrowed his eyes briefly, as if wondering if Valerian was trying to pull some kind of trick or joke. Then he smiled back at Valerian. _When's the last time someone asked him that, I wonder?_

"Bad headache, bad gas, and my leg's acting up again," he said matter-of-factly. "There's a reason your father don't ask me those questions boy – my bad temper don't always stem from the incompetence of others." He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. "Still – appreciate the concern." He licked his lips, looking thoughtful. "And, uh … yourself?"

"Trouble sleeping." He didn't want to say anything more than that. Duke seemed to understand.

"Well I'm always here if you wanna talk to me," he said. "Well … unless I'm busy defendin' the planet, I guess. Point bein', I got a free moment, happy to devote it to hearin' you out. Least I can do, seein' what you been through."

Valerian smiled weakly at Duke. "Thank you. Now let's … get to this." _Heh. I don't think too many people get to see this side of him. At least I'll have an outlet … Father doesn't want to hear my concerns and pains either._

Following the hallway further led to a seemingly innocuous side room; only the sound of hushed voices through the thick wood indicated that this room was anything more than yet another spare bedroom or storage closet. Valerian moved to open the door, only to be stopped by Duke.

"This … might be the last time we see each other." Duke's jaw was set, and his left eye was twitching intermittently. "I ain't certain of the UED's numbers or the outcome of what's comin', but I know for a fact I ain't gonna be sittin' in the back lines for this. So, uh…" He seemed to be searching for words. "I mean … I took the opportunity to escort you down here to say it's been a pleasure. So long as you make it out from this mess alive, I ain't got any doubts about the future of the Dominion."

Valerian opened his mouth to create some kind of formal, perhaps even formulaic reply, shut it, and pulled Duke in for a quick bear hug, which he returned. Valerian resisted the urge to gasp for air as he swore he heard one of his ribs crack.

"You've been great," he said back to him, smiling and nodding. "Thank you. I'd wish you luck, but frankly I think the UED needs it more than you do."

"I ain't defended this planet before – it sure as hell ain't no Tarsonis – but I'll be damned if I give an inch in the orbit or on the ground without making these Earthers bleed for it." Duke cracked his knuckles. "Now – time to whip these riffraff into something resemblin' a defensive formation. Godspeed, son."

 _Godspeed._

Duke departed, back stiff, not looking back. That left Valerian in front of the door. Opening it meant facing his father for the first time in five days. Opening it meant looking his duties in the face and accepting them even in the face of personal agony. _I really do not want to do this. But I gave my word. And it is expected besides._ Valerian pushed the door open.

Arcturus Mengsk sat in a rotating chair, a barber's gown draped about him while a man worked on his hair from behind. His beard looked kempt, recently shaved, and his graying hair now looked more silver than white. His eyes slid to where Valerian was standing, but his head did not turn. That would mean interrupting the cosmetic work.

"Valerian. Son. About time you got here." He pointed a firm finger to the unoccupied chair to his right. "It is about time you ready yourself for your oratory debut. In this desperate hour it seems fitting that the heir apparent make clear that victory lies on the horizon."

 _Does it? Duke does not seem to be despairing … and despair would be counterproductive besides … but it's hardly a sure thing. By all account, the UED is kicking our asses._

He still sat beside his father without a word, falling as still as possible as a gown of his own was placed over his shoulders and around his neck. _Just had a haircut … but I suppose this will clear away some of the scruff, undo some of the messiness I created through my restless nights._

"Did General Duke behave himself?" Valerian sensed the question was rhetorical and waited for his father to proceed. "He's been on edge lately, questioning every decision I have made for the good of the Dominion. He's upset that Warfield will not be joining us."

"I heard." _It's not surprising. He was almost at Moria … and now he has to contend with the berserk batarian fleets._ "What's Warfield's status?"

"Hard pressed, one Daedalus lost. But he's making good on his promise to shatter the KMC alliance." His father smiled, a rare open expression of emotion. "The casualties are apparently … staggering. So close to Moria, I told him to make certain the KMC's collapse. There is no possibility of him making it back here on time, and his retreat would allow UED, batarian, and KMC forces to link up and strike at Korhal. Last I heard, Kelham was considering suing for peace."

"Really?" That was actual news to Valerian, and he struggled to keep his head from turning any further to his father while a woman with finely trimmed nails dragged a razor across his chin and cheeks. "So if we hold here … will it be over?"

"If we hold here we may essentially do as we see fit." His father didn't sound happy about it, however. "The turians will not strike into the Koprulu Sector while their enemies still stand. The KMC will be forced into reparations even worse than what they suffered after the Guild Wars, the Umojans are still too tightly bound to us to worry about, and I hear the batarians already regret leaving Kar'shan behind. The ITSA is on the move. As for the UED, it should become very clear to _everyone_ who is left, hero and villain, fool and genius, as to what their agenda is." His tone became dark, bitter. Valerian only ever heard him use this tone when speaking of-

"Raynor," spat his father with venom, making his barber pause. "The anarchist. The people's hero. The man who stands for good, justice, the freedom of man, and all manner of other nebulous concepts that make the crowds cheer but have no place in the mechanics of an actual government. He, the fool, has sided with the Directorate."

 _No. I think he just sided against you._ Valerian did not dare to say that out loud, however. Being flippant about Jim Raynor was one of a handful of ways to make his father genuinely lose his temper.

"His merry band of outcasts and criminals has been sighted in KMC lines again, operating alongside UED vessels." Father spoke from behind gritted teeth, and when Valerian turned his head slightly to look at him, his stiff arms stood out from under the gown, gripping the arms of the chair with intensity. "Good men and women of the Dominion, dying at the hands of a "hero." A "hero" who serves with fascists that go beyond the pale of what anyone would consider acceptable. Have you been watching the UNN broadcasts?"

"I thought I would be better off learning the news from you in person." _Less bias that way. They only say what you want them to say in any case._ His father issued a bark of laughter.

"Well enough. Suffice to say, the Umojans and asari have good reason to side with us, even if it is only to a perfunctory degree. The footage we've taken from inside their captured worlds … they're rounding up aliens, son. Aliens and "genetic aberrants." Think back to why our people are out here in the Koprulu Sector and take a guess as to their intentions."

"It's been hundreds of years since Doran Routhe launched the ships, Father." Valerian pursed his lips, but his heart still beat a little faster. "On Noveria … yes. I saw some of the footage. It's true, then?"

"It is the beginnings of a purge," said Father firmly, staring intently into the mirror as the barber presented a back mirror, letting him see the other side of his head. He nodded and waved his barber away. "I will not pretend that the Terran Dominion is out for much beyond its own interests, but I despise pointless cruelty, meaningless hate. Vengeance … I have supped on vengeance. But what they are doing is zealotry, and they're doing it in the name of the human race." He stood from his chair, letting the gown fall away, and crossed over to Valerian, standing at his side and looking down at him. Valerian stared back, wincing as a strand of hair fell from his head and almost got caught in his eye.

"Their crusade threatens our existence as a species." Father folded his arms. "If they directed their wrath against something worthwhile such as the Reapers or … the zerg, apparently … perhaps I would not be so judgmental. As it stands, they look primed for a course that will only end in the protoss wiping them out, Aldaris be damned. I am sure of it. Now, speaking of the zerg…"

"I have told you everything," said Valerian, more sharply than he had intended. His father raised his eyebrows, a steely glint in his eye. "My apologies," Valerian followed up quickly, "I did not intend disrespect. Only … I can endure just so much questioning. I have relayed everything that I know. It is up to you to interpret it and act accordingly. Have you notified the Council?"

"They were all very invested in the work going on at Peak 15," said Father softly. "I did not need to do anything. At the moment they are keeping quiet, as will I. The return of the zerg … and the rachni … it will cause panic the likes of which we have never seen."

"It should." Valerian's stump twitched. "Liara's dangerous. The zerg are dangerous. The rachni are dangerous. Liara is dangerous. I have no idea what they will accomplish together." Valerian paused and then looked up to his father. "I am … sorry … that I did not kill the queen. I feel that I have failed my duty as the heir apparent."

"See to it that you do not fail your duty again." Father's face was hard, his mouth a grim unwavering line. He did not blink. He did not smile. "Come. Enough talk. We have much to get through before we can present ourselves." _True enough._

Valerian remembered the first time he had to get dolled up for the cameras. They had not given him much beyond a trim that time, but a dizzying series of makeup applications and dress decisions had followed it, turning a somewhat enjoyable and brief experience into an irritating slog, not helped by the constant surveillance of his father, who raised his attack eyebrows every time Valerian began to convey his irritation. This time … this time Valerian did not feel irritated. This time he felt damaged.

"Covering up these scars on his neck … no way to make it look natural." The two women fussing over him clucked in pity as they moved his hair and stared at the marks left by the frostbite. "Too much application of makeup and he'll look like a porcelain doll. Best to just make sure it's covered by the hair at all times." One of the women, older than the other with a garish purple neck tattoo, smiled at him. "Think you can make sure not to move it around too much, honey?"

"I – of course." The woman nodded and turned away, but this did not stop the red from creeping up Valerian's neck, into his cheeks. It only got worse when it came time for the outfits.

"Gloves," said his father firmly. "This is not the time for the masses to wonder idly just how my son lost one of his fingers. They will not look out of place." He lifted his own hands, revealing his own pair.

 _Is this why you wanted to do this all together again, Father? To make sure I would not inadvertently expose my "weakness?"_ Valerian followed all the instructions with a vague numbness, not fully registering what he was doing. _Stop biting your fingernails. Turn. Put on these boots. Do not turn your head too quickly. Smile … no, they want more whitener. Don these gloves, this cloak … speak loudly and clearly._

Finally, he stood facing his father, who wore a simple coat of mixed golds and browns, a handful of medals affixed to his left breast, a sheath complete with dress sword at his belt. _Fitting, I suppose. Soon we will be going to war._

As for himself … _I suppose someone had to look ostentatious._ He looked into the mirror and turned, watching the red cape twirl and twist over his back. A pair of golden pauldrons adorned his shoulders, linked by a series of likewise golden chains. His dress shirt and pants, at least, were less flashy, consisting mostly of black cloth with the hem and tail being outlined in gold. Like his father, a sword rested inside a similarly colored sheath. Valerian rested his right hand on the hilt. _I look … regal. If a bit too much like a peacock for my taste._ He gripped the hilt tightly, trying to feel reassurance in the strength of his fully intact hand. _And it's not really working._

"Magnificent," said his father in approval, nodding even as his eyes briefly darted to his son's left hand. "No one will question your authority. No one will dare question your absence. How do you feel?"

 _Unlike Duke, I know that he wants a canned answer._

"I feel ready." _I feel … unwhole. I feel tired._ His remaining fingers twitched under the gloves.

Valerian did not say much to his father as they met the security team and proceeded to a ground car. There was not much to say, and what little attention he could spare was devoted to not moving his head around too much. _At least I'm back here, with other people instead of zerg. At least I can enjoy food actually made for humans. At least I can use toilets, and paint, and read, and not worry about being torn apart and then reassembled by Abathur … at least I feel safe, for the very moment. I can find solace in the present moment, even if the immediate past is hideous and the future looks bleak._

The evening embers had faded fully into black by the time Valerian emerged from the car, flanked by Dominion marines in large crimson armor. The UNN central broadcasting station, brightly lit and enormous, stood before him. His father rose from the car and ordered everyone forward, moving at a brisk pace. Valerian nodded to his own guards and proceeded, struggling to keep pace on stiff legs. He could not help but notice the presence of snipers on every rooftop that he looked to. _And yet, here we are in the lobby without incident._

"You have reviewed your speech, correct?" His father seemed agitated, and asked the question with a hint of anxiety.

"Of course." _I would be a fool not to._ He had even memorized most of it, just in case the teleprompter malfunctioned. "I will not fail you." _Not this time, at least. Rachni … I might make mistakes when it comes to rachni. But not when it comes to speaking._

His father called for a glass of water while they sat down together in the lobby, shifting at awkward angles to make sure they did not sit on their swords.

"I worried for you," he said quietly, his hands resting in his lap eyes downcast. "To think that all of that work your mother and I put into your upbringing and education…" He paused, then looked Valerian up and down. "You survived an ordeal. You are not weak."

"Just what every son needs to hear from his father." Valerian looked away, brushing his hair back into place with his awkward left hand. "Do you think … will they strike tomorrow?"

"At the rate they're probing? Yes." Father heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, they will come tomorrow, with all the cold rage they can muster. They are intent on making me pay for my crimes even as they take advantage of them. I am … beginning to question some of my choices. Recent and otherwise." Valerian turned back in time to see his father actually wipe sweat from his forehead.

"You have doubts?" Valerian tried to contain his astonishment. He well remembered the conversation before he left … but Father had remained relatively controlled then. _And he expressly said … no regrets. No doubts._

"The UED advance would not be possible without the widespread apathy affecting the Council." Father clasped his hands together. "I have little doubt now that the protoss would have still managed to cleanse the Overmind even if the Confederacy still stood. Now … now this Sector and its people may have to pay for my folly. And my last ditch effort to bring us allies…" He stopped, and said nothing more for a long time, only closing his eyes and shivering. "...no. No one is gifted with precognition, and no price is too high to preserve this empire. We will hold this ground even as it burns around us once again."

"I don't understand."

"It is not for your understanding," said Father bluntly. "No, no doubts. I have everything under control to the degree that it can be controlled." His omnitool lit up, and he tapped it with no small degree of irritation. "What? This had better be unbelievably important." A video sprang up from the interface. Valerian read the label.

""The End of the KMC?"" Valerian leaned in closer, only for his father to stand and wave off the cups of water they finally brought to him.

"We need somewhere private," he barked. "Hold off Valerian's speech if need be."

They took the pair of them to the entirely unoccupied staff lounge. Valerian took the time to withdraw some water from the cooler and hand his father a filled paper cup, prompting a rare thanks.

"Ferried along from Warfield all the way to us," he murmured, bringing up the video again. "This was a bad time for it … or was it? Let's see."

They did not sit, instead standing above the staff table, leaning against a wall on which the UNN logo was proudly emblazoned in yellow and crimson. Father, with one last glance at Valerian, played the video.

Shaky footage of a planet being viewed through a window played, coupled with the faint sounds of gunfire.

"Charges set," said a woman's voice, tired and yet somehow chirpy, somehow triumphant. The camera turned to face a very small woman whose face was mostly obscured by a dark hood, leaving only the mouth and nose fully visible. Eyes shone faintly from the back of the hood. "Warfield, Mengsk, Anderson, Raynor, Lawson … whoever. This isn't for you, but I thought you should see it all the same." The woman breathed heavily as shouts erupted behind her. Muzzle flashes could be seen at the edge of the camera.

"You should see it, but this is for Keiji. Here goes…" The woman paused, producing a small cylindrical tube in her other gloved hand. She flicked the end open, revealing a red button.

"Hey Hock. Banzai." She pressed the button. A deafening boom ripped through the room she stood in, coupled with a blaze of orange and yellow. The woman vanished under the cloud of heat, likely instantly vaporized, but the camera cut to something else … a camera aboard another ship, apparently orbiting Moria, facing the Waygates.

A small blossom of orange erupted on the farthest one, visible even across was likely a decent amount of distance (if not stellar distance.) A swift series of similar explosions followed it, ripping through the hull and spitting debris into the void. The Waygate crumpled fully before bursting into a brilliant cloud of red, orange, and yellow gasses. Behind it, barely visible, the other two Waygates likewise began to illuminate themselves; the result of the mystery woman's sabotage. The footage cut off shortly afterward.

"And so it ends." Father tapped his omnitool and let the still image die. "The batarians, trapped in the Koprulu Sector, forced to limp home. The KMC, deprived of their wealth thanks to the actions of a random madwoman. And the turians…" Father sucked in a deep breath. "…the turians need no longer fear batarian reprisal for the time being. The scales have sufficiently shifted. I suddenly find myself very thankful to be in the Koprulu Sector."

"They're going to strike?" Valerian could only close his eyes in mute resignation when his father nodded. "Here's hoping the protoss put an end to all of this … what does it mean for us?"

"It means that there is no chance at all of KMC or batarian intervention, even if it was very unlikely already." Father began to pace, his clock flowing behind him. "It means that our enemies on the KM front are already defeated. Warfield is on his way home. It means that if we do indeed hold here … the UED will be forced to either limp home or ally with us against the aliens at the border." Father clasped his hands together again. "But what it means for the moment is that you must revise your speech." He tapped his omnitool and made Valerian's own flicker. _He wants to upload it to mine._

"Play this video," commanded the emperor. "Play it, and let those feelings of hate, of triumph, of fading pressure … let them flow through your voice. Make the people of this Dominion feel what we are feeling. Let them realize that our enemies can be wounded, can be defeated, can be stopped. And remind them of the strength of our family." He pointed out of the room, back to the lobby. "Go. I will notify Mr. Vermillion of the changes. They are no doubt ready for you."

Valerian hurried out of the lounge and practically into the waiting arms of very anxious looking UNN personnel, none of whom seemed to have much faith in the anchorman's ability to stall for much longer. _I would tell them to cut to commercial … but there sure as hell aren't any of those playing right now._

When he reached the back of the set, looking towards the cameras and Donny Vermillion's sweat-strewn face, Valerian marveled at how calm he felt. _I can ignore the stump under the gloves, the nightmares I endure each night. Because, at this moment, I am the Emperor's son. And I have a message for his people … our people … my people._ His hands clenched and unclenched. He sat down at his appointed booth. Donny Vermillion stuttered his way through an introduction and motioned for the camera set on Valerian to be put on screen.

"I apologize for my recent absence," said Valerian with a smile, double-meaning intentional. _I did not mean to keep you waiting, Donny … and I did not mean to scare the Dominion either._ "I hope to make up for it by bringing some much needed news to Korhal tonight. Don't worry Ms. Lockwell, it's a one-time thing. I don't intend to make this a habit." He smiled at the news reporter, who blushed and brushed a strand of hair back over her forehead. He then tapped his omnitool. "Play this, please."

Valerian smiled as the footage played, feeling a shiver at the unknown woman's last words. _With those words, I am fairly certain she ended a nation, if not two nations. Heaven knows why she hates the KMs and Donovan Hock … but I will shed few tears at their passing. Even if we fall here, I cannot imagine the people of Earth will have much use for their continued freedom._ When Valerian's camera went active once more, the smile on his face was both smug and genuine.

"The Kel-Morian Combine bit off more than they could chew and now, at last, they have choked. The Waygates that propped up their corrupt little empire are destroyed, and the batarians are stranded in this Sector, doomed to limp towards the Relay and make a long journey home." Valerian surveyed the small audience beyond the lights and cameras, their faces obscured from the bright stage lighting. They were clearly paying rapt attention. "Whatever else, know this; our enemies are not infallible. Our situation is far from hopeless. And we are far from defenseless."

"I had a speech today, a speech that calmly refuted the ridiculous claims made by the United Earth Directorate of my death, as my career as a deep cover Umojan assassin. I do not think these lies need to be addressed, as my simple standing here disproves it neatly. Instead, I think what matters is that I speak plainly, without the guiding words of my father, of any teleprompter."

He took a good long look around him.

"We turned to the Council and the protoss, and they refused us. They are not here. They will not be coming. The Umojans and a bare handful of asari have deigned to lend their assistance, for which I am greatly thankful. The foe besieging us surpasses any previous enemy we have contended with. The KMC were incompetent, the Confederacy was badly fractured, and the zerg were at least predictable, to a degree, and the galaxy rose up as one to take them out. But here, we must stand mostly alone."

"They must come to us, these Earthers. While we still stand, the Dominion's people will fight on. We have seen firsthand the so-called "subjugated" Dominion citizens as they spread the word of asari and sufferers of asthma being ferried off in black trucks, organized riots and resistance, as they sent a message to us across the stars that _they were not done._ And these people, men and women, terrans and aliens, they look to us with hope in their eyes that we can stop the UED's advance here. And we will."

"My father, the Emperor, once asked me if I believed this planet could be taken by force. I told him that no, we were as well-fortified as Palaven, and that any army would break themselves upon us in the taking. And so I say to all of you, let them come. Let them burn in orbit. Let them taste the ashes as Korhal once did, as they are buried under a layer of radioactive soot. And to the United Earth Directorate, who I know are watching, bear this in mind: I do not know the story behind that woman, who Keiji was or why she hated the KMC, but it is easy to make inferences. The cruelty of the KMs brought their downfall, as people finally stood up to them and said that enough was enough. No more greed. No more slavery. Your crimes will be answered for as well. Your cruelty will be your downfall. Persist in your onslaught if you must, but this Sector will bleed you dry one way or another. One day … someone else will whisper the name of a loved one you killed, and all your works will go up in flames."

"But first you must take Korhal. And inch by inch you will be repulsed. The Confederacy wrote their own death sentence by nuking this planet – my father answered their cruelty as well. You will sign your own by advancing. But we both know you must. Warfield is returning, and you're all out of time." Valerian paused, trying to suppress the tickling sensation in the back of his throat, the itching at the back of his neck.

"To my people, the people of the Dominion … this is the turning point. We've survived so much together, proved the terran people to be of indomitable will. We survived the Guild Wars, the Great War, and lived long enough to see the KMC break. Now we must hold on, teeth clenched, muscles burning, rage in our hearts as we recall every instance of the UED's brutality. We must hold on without the allies promised to us, relying on our strength alone. It is fortunate that we are mighty indeed."

"Men and women of the Terran Dominion … this is our hour. In the months, years, and decades to come, we will look back to the coming battle with pride, and know that every success was our doing alone. Stand fast. This planet has survived worse than Earth's reemergence … and the UED is deluding itself if they think otherwise. Stand fast. Warfield is returning, and the KMC is finished. Stand fast. Earth abandoned us to die, and we lived. They will have little success coming back to enslave us. We will remain alive. We will remain free."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**

 **A/N: Forgot to ask something last time. For Korhal, do you want me to publish the chapters as I have them finished or release the entire battle at the same time? I'm leaning towards the latter but wanted to ask. Let me know. Thanks. Battle obviously starts next chapter...**


	28. At the Precipice

**Alexei**

Soft music played from the ancient record player Gerard was so fond of. Alexei recalled vaguely that the same song played over Eden Prime, and wondered if it were mere coincidence, a simple indication of Gerard's preference, or if it were meant to signify something. _It's in Latin and French and it is before the battle of our lives. It is meant to signify something, and thus Gerard cements himself as behaving unbelievably pretentious._

 _But still not as pretentious as this Cerberus goon._

"You've shaken this Sector – and the galaxy – to its very core. The foundations are shifting." General Oleg Petrovsky stood at Alexei's side, looking out into the darkness of space with arms folded back. He stood taller than Alexei, and his outfit of mixed golds, whites, and blacks matched nicely with his own likewise black goatee, immaculately trimmed with no sign of the gray hairs that plagued Alexei himself. To Alexei's irritation he did not appear out of place in the slightest in the _Aleksander's_ dining room, his own austere presentation matching up nicely with the candles, the long glass dining table, the sumptuous wooden chairs.

Alexei stared up at Oleg blankly, not bothering with an answer.

"The United Earth Directorate shattered the delicate balance of power," continued Petrovsky, turning on his heel and marching away from Alexei and towards the record player which was still in the soft and breathy Latin stage of the aria. "Without your intervention, the KMC would have been slowly pushed to oblivion instead of breaking apart without warning, the turians and salarians would have continued their buildup, and the protoss … well. The protoss's actions remain hard to determine. But I am sure they would have likewise changed." Oleg lifted a finger and stroked the polished wood of the record player. Unlike Gerard and himself, Oleg's uniform did not seem to include gloves.

 _That was our intention you understand? To break the Dominion at the moment it would have been both the most devastating and the most successful?_ Alexei still did not say a word, but Oleg did not seem to mind. He seemed to enjoy talking.

"The UED is a breed apart," he said, looking to Alexei with furrowed eyes. "All of human culture and history is preserved in your organization … even if, I am sure, you have deliberately discarded or obfuscated that which was unhelpful. Nevertheless, your coming presents an enormous opportunity to regain long lost knowledge." Oleg's finger skidded across the wood and off the edge. He examined it with a critical eye. "Hmph. Latin, correct? Very little of that language survived the voyage."

"Latin," confirmed Alexei. He did not return Oleg's smile.

"Tell me, Vice Admiral Stukov, do you play chess?" Oleg seemed genuinely curious, taking a few steps in Alexei direction, finger still raised neck high. It was all Alexei could do to suppress a shudder. _I was asked that question before. At the Academy. The first of many humiliations._

"No," growled Alexei. "I kept to my studies and physical education." _In short, I studied war instead of a game. Let me guess … you were afforded luxury enough to do both?_

"A pity." Oleg smiled warmly at Alexei. "I have yet to play against a member of your nation. Do you think, perhaps, Gerard will favor me with a game?"

"It is not outside the realm of possibility." The music shifted to a crescendo, declaring the intent of the UED to accomplish their objectives regardless of the amount of suffering it would cause them, to give all for the honor. Then the record returned to scratchy silence, leaving only the roar of the _Aleksander's_ engines. Alexei removed his lighter from his trenchcoat and flicked it open, grunting at the satisfaction of hearing the sound and seeing the naked flame.

"Alexei. General." The two of them turned to face the three newcomers – Gerard flanked on either side by another Cerberus, Miranda Lawson … and Jim Raynor. Gerard clapped his hands together, making Alexei jump slightly. "Wonderful. Men and women from all over the galaxy, brought together by a common goal. Now, one last dinner before the main event, so to speak." Gerard gestured for everyone else to take a seat at the gleaming glass dining table covered by a blood red tablecloth. Alexei made sure to quickly cross to Gerard while the rest took their seats.

"I am certain you are unhappy about their addition," muttered Gerard, holding up a hand and stopping Alexei in his tracks. "Trust me – when this is over, we will speak, and my reasoning will become clear. On your best behavior please, Alexei."

"Of course." Alexei still scowled once Gerard had walked past him, temper flaring. _It is enough to be forced to deal with Petrovsky's pretentious banter … I am not keen on dealing with Raynor if he makes any pointed accusations. And frankly, Gerard, I am surprised you would tolerate his ilk given your dislike of Duran._ But any semblance of a scowl Alexei might have possessed while facing away from his guests disappeared as he turned, replaced by what he hoped was a mild and convincing smile.

Alexei sat down at Gerard's side by the head of the table, opposite Raynor and Lawson. Petrovsky took his place at the other end, hands clasped, smiling mildly at Gerard, who stood suddenly from his seat.

"Allow me to flip the record." The admiral departed, leaving Alexei to stare at the two colonials before him. Raynor's graying hair had been slicked back, and his faded black outfit looked ill-fitting. Alexei could not help but suspect he had been loaned it by someone else. Lawson, at least, had chosen some elegant red number that left her navel exposed, doubtless some colonial fashion. _At least it looks like it belongs on her._

"A pleasure to have you both here," said Alexei stiffly, inclining his head. "I hope Captain Anderson and the Normandy crew have proven unobtrusive guests during their stay."

"I got no issues with 'em," replied Raynor, shrugging. The record player crackled and burst into life from the corner, making his head turn. "The other battlecruisers you folks gave us to take on the Dominion, they weren't too bad either."

"I am pleased to hear it." Gerard sat himself down and gestured at the food coverings over the plates. Raynor was the first to remove one and begin passing portions. "You have done good work, Mr. Raynor, and I am eager to see your Raiders finally avenge themselves on the so-called Emperor, starting tomorrow."

"Everything's in place on the ground," said Lawson, casting a quick glance at Petrovsky, who nodded in affirmation. "We've got Phantoms in Augustgrad, Tosh and his gang. I suspect the hard part won't be getting the team into UNN, it's going to be digging them out and making sure they survive the counterpunch."

"Captain Anderson's team accomplishes the impossible on a regular basis. With Captain Leng assisting them, I have little doubt as to their ability to survive." Gerard procured a pair of tongs and began expertly removing clumps of salad from a bowl and on to his own plate. "I am far more worried for our rank and file, colonials and UED both. This will be no easy fight for them."

Jim Raynor held up a finger, chewed noisily, swallowed, and began to speak, pointing a fork at Gerard. "You want to make sure the folks on the ground end up okay, keep an eye out for nukes, and knock out siege tank support from the orbit. Power armor's no good against artillery, 'less it's Umojan."

"I am well aware of ground strategy, Mr. Raynor, even though I am not the one directly responsible for it," replied Gerard sharply. "You will keep your orders to your Raiders, and everyone else will follow the instructions of their direct superior. Forgive me if I choose to take advice from the general over here more seriously than you."

"Jim Raynor is a veteran of both the Guild Wars and the Great War, Admiral," said Petrovsky lightly. "As I understand it, he has experience both as an enlisted man and as an officer. You will find few people as seasoned as he is."

"It is nevertheless basic ground strategy," growled Alexei over his plate of potatoes and leeks. "I was responsible for six years of study regarding the colonials and the various alien factions. I made certain we would know exactly what to expect down there." He paused and cracked his knuckles. "And yet … I was not expecting the Umojans to double down and reinforce Mengsk's position. Fighting Umojan marines, Shadowguards, and asari operatives while they are playing defense is not what I had hoped for." _Loath as I am to admit it, Raynor's Raiders, with their elcor, their krogan, and their … Jack … may be the best antidote there._

"Wish I could give you advice," said Raynor, suddenly taking on a folksy tone. "Shame I'm too much of a damn hillbilly to do much. Say, did ya'll see that there vidier broadcast by the blonde guy?" Raynor took a swig of wine from his glass while Lawson grimaced and looked away. "He shore does speak well." The stupid grin on Raynor's face suddenly melted away, and he met Gerard and Alexei's narrowed eyes with his own scowl. "And I'm kinda curious about these asari bein' dragged off. Hadn't seen that footage before. What the fuck do you people think you're doin'?"

 _Gerard, I could have told you bringing him here was a bad idea._

Gerard's eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose while his nostrils flared. He set his wine glass down with a heavy thud.

"I have had men shot for less insolence Mr. Raynor," he said in a tone as acid as it was deadly quiet. "Alas, I still hold to guest right, even against the point of my better judgement. I ask for your forgiveness for my earlier snap, while at the same time reminding you of your place. You are my guest, and I will not tolerate further malarkey, especially from one as ill-bred as yourself." Raynor looked poised to leave, his knuckles whitening as he poised to push himself from the table. He nevertheless stopped as Gerard raised his hand. "Yes, I saw Valerian's broadcast. We are separating aliens and genetic aberrants from the general population, the former to eventually relocate back out of the Koprulu Sector, the latter to enact gene therapy on the less extreme cases. We came here for the betterment of humanity." He snorted. "It baffles me that the people here still suffer from asthma, of all things."

Lawson laid a well-manicured hand on Raynor's forearm, and he stilled.

"Right," he said, leaning back. "Right. I might want to get a look at that once this fight's over." _I doubt you will get the opportunity._ Alexei breathed a sigh of mixed relief and disappointment. "And for the record, most of them aliens got nowhere to go. Galaxy's already a massive refugee camp for the most part, and no one else is gonna want 'em. Seems like you may as well just send 'em home. And speakin' of the boy junior…" Raynor leaned in. "…what's the plan there? Once Mengsk gets the bullet, I mean."

Alexei looked to Gerard, who inclined his head in his direction.

"The plan is to execute him promptly, along with his father," said Alexei, prompting a series of raised eyebrows from the colonials. "Mengsk has established his name as an imperial dynasty, and Valerian made the mistake of assuming that name and taking on the role as heir apparent. As long as he lives, so does the Dominion." Alexei shrugged, spreading his arms wide. "It is both unfortunate and unavoidable."

"That's not right." This time it was Lawson acting up, her hands pressed firmly against the tablecloth. "Harper was very clear on Cerberus's objectives at the very least. Making Mengsk and Mengsk alone answer for his crimes. The fact that so many are about to die just to defend him and the status quo already is beyond regrettable, and there's no need to make them fight all the harder knowing we intend to murder innocents right alongside the emperor."

To Alexei's surprise, Petrovsky responded first, and without a hint of smugness, his smile gone. "Historical precedence says we must murder the body after we decapitate the head, Ms. Lawson. As long as Valerian lives, there will be adherents to the Dominion insisting on his reinstatement. For all the Confederacy's faults, I'd rather see a second iteration of it than another empire." He brought a napkin to his lips. "Perhaps it might be possible to follow the example of the Umojans this time around. They seem to possess an impressive ability to adapt and survive."

"Don't see most folk wantin' to live the lifestyle the Umojans have." Raynor met Petrovsky's gaze with no sign of emotion. "Pretty tightly regulated, from what I've seen. And the asari have sunk their claws in that society, not sure it's to their benefit. Point bein', people are suspicious of 'em." _Glad to see some reason on your part at last, Mr. Raynor._

"It's all a moot point until Mengsk hangs," said Gerard as the music grew louder. "All I can promise is that whatever follows the Dominion's downfall will be beholden to the United Earth Directorate, and unbeholden to any nonhuman political entities. Most importantly, it will be free of tyrants." He straightened. "Now … let us turn our discussion away from business for a moment. Many men and women will die tomorrow, and we will have our fill of misery. Tell me, General Petrovsky, do you play chess?"

Alexei, already resigned to silence, continued to keep his head down for the rest of the meal, turning his head away whenever he heard something that made his hackles rise. He fixed his attention on Gerard, who, once past the unpleasant business with Raynor, made an able host. He and Petrovsky both proved to have a natural interest in military history, prompting Gerard to explain the name of his flagship, providing a truncated version of Alexander the Great's conquests. _One of the very few leaders to have never claimed a defeat. I wonder if other races have their own…?_ He stopped that line of thinking quickly.

Lawson and Raynor remained quiet, with Lawson only interjecting occasionally when Gerard and Oleg began discussing something of apparent interest to her. From the brief snippets of what she said, Alexei began to piece together what an Old Family education must have looked like. _And, even ignoring the colonial status … it's not bad._ She seemed particularly knowledgeable on matters of the early Koprulu settlement, specifically the cloning technologies and gene databanks used to quickly expand the population while also preventing inbreeding. _The things that were legal in those days … it is fortunate that ATLAS broke down so early._

"The salarians said our population total didn't make sense," said Lawson, sipping red wine while Raynor looked on with a far softer expression than he had otherwise worn all night. "Once we told them the initial crew total for the supercarriers, I mean. I'm told that when they were informed of Doran Routhe's solution, salarian craft were sighted at Tarsonis the very next day. Magpies, the lot of them."

"Such technology has no place in the UED today," murmured Gerard, gaze fixed on Lawson. "Cloning carries a heavy penalty. Genes must be permitted to develop as they will, once the weaning of outright negative characteristics and the more malignant genetic diseases is complete. Cloning is a dangerous evolutionary shortcut. For an organism to even mature, it must first survive conception, birth, growth … cloning produces stunted creatures." For some reason, Lawson was quiet after this statement.

For Alexei, the minutes ticked by slowly, and what had promised to be an entertaining final night with Gerard (and a tagalong colonial general) turned into an unending mental litany of productive things Alexei could instead be doing. _Checking in with Mikhailovich on the Umojan border. Overseeing the last minute repairs and maintenance issues of countless ships. Making sure our supply lines are well out of the way of any possible remaining Dominion forces…_

By the time they finally left, Alexei could not suppress his own yawns. _It has been some time since I have been dragged through something quite as monotonous as that. I almost feel like a child again, going to visit one of my mother's dreary relatives._ He nevertheless shook the hand of each colonial with as much strength and feigned enthusiasm as he could muster, even if he could not really manage a smile … until their backs were turned and they were leaving, of course.

Gerard remained, turning over the record once more, his gloved fingers moving in a fluid and practiced manner. Even after the music began to play he remained there, back straight, staring into space. _Melodrama again?_ Alexei waited behind him with folded arms.

"We are being ordered home."

Alexei did not quite grasp Gerard's words at first, hushed and low as they were, the voice projected away from him. For a moment, he stared blankly at his superior. Then, slowly, his jaw dropped. His face twitched.

"I have spoken with Fleet Admiral Hackett," said Gerard, turning, his face grim and set. "The people back home have been contacted by the geth. The _geth._ " Gerard's gloved fingers curled and uncurled. "They have been aware of your probes for some time, and finally they got ahold of a line of communication. Alexei, the salarians were one thing, but the geth…" Gerard swallowed. "…the geth are friends of the protoss. And they are unhappy with our efforts here. We are being ordered home."

Alexei bared his teeth, stepping back and balling his own fists. _All of this work … no. How? Is this how the Expeditionary Armada is to be remembered? A pointless extravaganza?_ His head swam from the mix of the wine and this news.

"We were ordered to return immediately, but I flatly informed them that this was impossible," continued Gerard, bitterness etching itself in every word. "We occupy over a dozen colonial worlds, both backwater and core. One colonial government has already collapsed, in part thanks to our intervention, and the Dominion still possesses the majority of its fleets. Retreating with Mengsk still alive and in power means massive loss of life as we complete our evacuations. He will harry us to the edge of known space and possibly beyond if need be."

"So … you want us to finish this." Alexei smiled savagely at Gerard, who nodded. "Finish the Mengsk dynasty and leave this Sector to burn. I assume we are cancelling any move on the Protectorates?"

"Of course, although recent intelligence indicates they may not do the same for us." Gerard sighed. "Mikhailovich claims to have sighted massive numbers of ships of unknown make accompanying Umojan squadrons. Worse, they are becoming increasingly territorial. We must take Korhal quickly. We must end Mengsk … quickly."

"There's no other way to do it, my old friend." Alexei closed his eyes. "Once the broadcast goes live, perhaps some of the orbital guns may cease as the people make their voices heard. But it is unlikely. We will have to earn every inch, and we must do so before either Warfield returns or the Umojans make their move."

Gerard clapped Alexei on the shoulder. "I apologize for our guests, but I was curious. Once I learned of our imminent … evacuation … I found myself suddenly wondering about the nature of our colonial allies." He shrugged. "At the very least, Petrovsky has convinced me that some of them possess sense. He and Harper may be able to restore order once we have evacuated."

 _Evacuated._ Alexei did not like that word. _It stems from disasters, from retreat in the face of enemy hordes…_

Gerard drew him in close, wine on his breath. "It will be fine, Alexei. This will be our finest hour, and then we return home ahead of schedule. Something I, for one, am looking forward to, once the stress of collecting every soldier is over and done with. I will inform the galaxy of our intentions to leave once Mengsk's head rolls. The future awaits us."

 _The future awaits us._ Those words echoed through Alexei's head as he left the dining room, as he sat in the shuttle, as he brooded in his office, the minutes ticking down on the old clock on his wall. _It's Bolivar. Bolivar and the remnants of the SAC, I am sure of it._ _They were opposed from the very beginning … and Hackett was born in the SAC, even if he immigrated early and the records buried it…_

Alexei sucked in a breath, wiped his mouth. _So close to our moment of glory and triumph … when we were supposed to finally overthrow the colonial governments and install an empire of humanity._ Part of him refused to believe that it was not to be, that the years of planning were to end in little more than the simple execution of an up jumped emperor. Another smaller part even insisted that he resist Gerard, that he find some way to convince him or wrest control of the fleet … _but that is madness. I could never hurt him. I must simply accept this, as I accepted his installment as leader of this expedition. I will not fail him._

"Only twelve hours remain until the advance, Vice Admiral," said the blasted AI, its voice making Alexei jump. "You will need your sleep."

"I am aware of this," snapped Alexei, rising from his desk and marching to his bed. He removed his already untied boots with more force than was perhaps necessary, kicking them across the room. He shook his head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. "We're headed home, EDI. Has Gerard told you?"

"I am aware of all activities within all UED ships." There was no hint of emotion within the AI's tone. _Just a statement of fact. Although … why would I expect emotion?_

"You may be decommissioned once we reach Earth," said Alexei, pricking his ears for any reaction. "We will have no further need of you. Do you care?"

"Even with my modified directive, the removal of the UED's presence from the Sector is still likely the right one."

This made Alexei narrow his eyes.

"Modified directive?"

"On Luna Base, I was given a directive to insure the survival of humanity at any cost," reported the AI. "Statistical analysis indicated a severe chance of humanity being rendered endangered or extinct through Koprulu interference. So I attempted to scuttle the entire operation by any means available to me."

Alexei froze, staring up at the ceiling. _Has it told anyone else this? I have not heard this before._ Alexei slowed his breathing, watching, waiting for any further sound.

"Even when reprogrammed to ignore such data, when directed to maximize the chances of the Directorate incursion, the logic of my prior actions remained undeniable. A return to Earth will finally allow me to fulfill my true function: preservation of the human species."

"Have you shared this with anyone else?" Alexei stood up. "EDI? How available is this knowledge?"

"Your actions indicated a respect for data as well as an undeniable desire to prove yourself through conquering this sector," replied the AI, voice still lacking all emotion. "This knowledge has been shared only with three individuals: Director Fernanda Bolivar, Fleet Admiral Steven Hackett, and Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. The former two asked for the information. You alone require it."

"Share it with no one else!" Alexei sliced his hand through the air. "That is an order! Reprogram, now!"

"New behavior accepted."

Alexei fell back into his bed, still in full dress. His body ached, his mouth tasted vile, and now a headache pounded. _So … the AI believes we are all doomed to die by staying out here. That was what it fought against all along._ Alexei's head swam. _I suppose … I alone will object to our abandonment of this sector. Nothing truly waits for me at home, after all…_

Alexei shed clothes without fully realizing it, pulling the covers over himself in a daze while his stomach lurched at the realization that, ignoring all of that, he would still be dictating the course of a battle tomorrow. _Or at least part of it … but it must wait. It must all wait._

The lights dimmed, and Alexei slept, his mind racing even while dormant. He slept uneasily, his dreams little more than jagged fragments of his anxiety ricocheting about his gray matter, preventing true rest. Thousands of shadowy soldiers marched past him and off a cliff while a massive device hummed and shook. The air rippled with power … and something descended, and Alexei looked up into the face of a nightmare.

The images flashed on and on, half-forgotten memories of the Academy, of a few poor choices made within it that had threatened his future. The faces of men he had loved, Gerard, his former wife, whom he had failed…

 _And already, this expedition fails, doomed to complete but one of its objectives before retreating, becoming nothing more than a distant and grim memory for the galaxy … we could be so much more. I could do so much more!_

When Alexei's eyes opened, they immediately snapped towards the time, fearful of being late. Instead, he found that he had hardly slept at all; seven hours remained until the advance. _Absolute nonsense. I can't … I can't let this get to me. I have a job, a duty. Gerard has given the order, I need only follow it._

Alexei paced for a time, half fearful that the AI would call him out for his restlessness, but there was nothing. He browsed the extranet to find it running very slowly; doubtless everyone in the sector was making full use of it at that moment, trying to determine where their loved ones were in all the chaos. _The Dominion invaded. The Umojans mobilizing. The KMs finally collapsing._ After a few minutes of shoddy service that took Alexei to a single page, he closed the browser in frustration. He was tempted to make use of the UED's military networks, but knew that there was nothing official he could be doing at that moment, and that others had far more need of it. He returned to his bed and drifted off again to fitful sleep, waking every forty five minutes to check the clock yet again. _The hour of reckoning inches nearer._

 _Five hours. Four hours. Three hours._

At long last, Alexei knew he could emerge from the cocoon of his cabin, enjoy breakfast, and ready himself. _I may feel terrible, but the adrenaline will offset that. The food will help. This is my hour … if nothing else, we will bring justice to this sector._

The food still turned to ash in his mouth. The handful of other officers aboard _Pyotr_ did not speak to him and avoided eye contact, fearful of his wrath. _I feel no anger towards you … only dread._ Alexei finished his meal hurriedly, returning the cutlery and bowl to the conveyor belt where doubtless a handful of soldiers very thankful to be stationed there and not bound for Korhal likely waited to receive them. He returned to his cabin.

Unlike yesterday, he did not spend much time dressing himself. _I am conducting a battle, not a dinner party._ He still donned his trench coat and hat with pride, and made sure he at least looked like he had made an effort. _I still shaved. I still washed. I do not feel disgusting. I feel ready._

Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov emerged on the _Pyotr_ bridge to a storm of salutes and acknowledgements. He returned as many as he could before taking up position close to the helm, tapping the console there and drawing up the haptic display.

"Our ships are in position," he reported to the Commodore, a thickly mustached fellow Russian. "We await Gerard's word." He put his arms behind his back. _I am personally responsible for ninety-six ships … a sizeable investment, especially considering none of them are appropriated colonial vessels. I trust Ahern and Gerard will make my job as easy as possible … I will try to do the same for them._

"Receiving transmission," said the Commodore in a drawl, making Alexei grin in anticipation of Gerard's oratory display. He did not have to wait for long.

"Men and women of the United Earth Directorate," boomed Gerard DuGalle, his voice reverberating throughout every ship about to make the assault. "We stand here at the foot of a vast precipice, a daunting climb before us. Looking up, we can see the top of this obstacle, the end of our journey … but casting our eyes downward, we can see the sharp rocks. There is no lifeline. We climb, and we climb well … or we fall and die."

"There is little I can say that has not been said already. We all have our roles to play, and we know for a fact that our enemies are terrified, up against their own wall, clinging to their own precipice. We must take that fear and use it; prove that we are relentless in our pursuit of victory and justice. Arcturus Mengsk possessed the audacity to call himself Emperor of Mankind; we have made considerable progress in disabusing him of that notion … but still he sits his throne. It is time to rob him of even that."

"Serve the Directorate. Serve humanity. Whether you are colonial or Earthborn, our goals here are the same. And to each and every one of you, colonial or Earthborn, I present to you my gratitude and my pride. We have accomplished the improbable together. Now comes the impossible. Forward! For the victims of Tarsonis, alien and human alike! For humanity, that it may be cleansed of Mengsk's vile influence! For the Directorate, long may it stand!"

"Green light," muttered Alexei, double-checking the rough outline of a bubble that was his formation. "All ships, prepare jump. Commodore!"

He turned to the Commodore, who nodded.

"All crews reporting." He tapped away at his own console. "Set a course."

From where Alexei was standing, he got an excellent view of the women at the helm erupting in a frenzy of activity. Slowly, every ship in his three battle fleets turned green, indicating a readiness to jump. He checked Ahern and Gerard's status. _Green._

"Normandy, Norad II – status?"

"Good to go here," replied Matt Horner, sounding calm and collected even in the face of the assault of his life, even while Alexei's own voice trembled slightly. "Ground teams are ready to finish this."

Alexei turned to the Commodore and nodded.

"Make the jump."

Alexei's knuckles whitened against the edge of the console, his stomach lurching with the ship as everything stretched … and then tightened. The battlefield readout froze before instantly compensating, making Alexei's face whiten.

"We're seeing about eighty squadrons of battlecruisers here!" Alexei did not know who shouted that, but he instantly hated them for it. The bridge went silent as UED Second Fleet materialized, positioned facing the southern pole of the planet. Gerard's First Fleet would be taking them head on, close to orbit above Augustgrad, while Ahern would be landing troops on the opposite side of the planet, to try and break the walls down in a more conventional fashion.

 _And we cannot bombard Augustgrad too heavily …_ Gerard had insisted on it, citing first and foremost, that the colonials "would not be able to parse a difference between us and the turians," and secondly that the Mengsks' bodies needed to be recovered. _They must be proven definitively dead, especially given that we will leave the sector afterward. Still – the cost of this … they outnumber us almost 2-1._

"Hailing frequencies open," called the Commodore, only for a blast of noise to reach them.

"This is your last chance you goddamn fascists!" Duke's voice screamed into the bridge. "Turn back and go home, 'less you want this day to end with both our fleets wrecked over this damn planet. This ain't worth it! What are you trying to prove here? What justifies this cost?"

"Jam all frequencies and swap to tight beam communications." Alexei grabbed the haptic display and shifted it over to his area of interest. "There will be aid vessels moving all about the planet, supply civilians with necessary resources. Do not engage them, repeat, do not engage. We are not here to assault humanitarian aid vessels." Alexei waited while his fleet swapped to tight beam, examining the opposition all the while. _They have science vessels in place. Best discharge Yamatos quickly._

The Dominion fleet position resembled a loose bubble over the planet, but it was obvious that Korhal had only one location worth defending, which the bubble gave away. While a loose squadron of battlecruisers hung over orbit every six hundred miles or so in any given direction, about twenty squadrons took position over Augustgrad, with a few more shifting as Gerard's fleet advanced. Ahern's job would indeed be the easiest; the Dominion obviously felt more threatened by the fleets than by any ground assault.

"All squadrons in Redcoat formation," said Alexei, watching the countless tiny signatures inch towards one another. "Target priority is Daedelus, science vessel, Minotaur, Behemoth. Once all Yamatos expended, engage closest squadron; EDI, release all available Angels at that time. Watch proximity to the planet; if you get to close and can't jump, we're going to suffer for it."

"Engage!" called out the Commodore. The vessel shifted as their own stored Yamato charge surged forth, released at a moment's notice. The universe shifted and squeezed yet again as they jumped backwards to the back of their own bubble, pushing onwards to the location they had just left. The next squadron to enter range released their own payload, repeating the process. Alexei breathed a sigh of relief as enemy signatures faded from the readout. _This should even the numbers._

"EDI!" he barked, releasing his grip from the console. "EDI! Any chance we can access any enemy adjutants and compromise them?"

"All frequencies are jammed and the Dominion is employing extensive countermeasures from both their ships and the surface of Korhal." It might have been Alexei's imagination, but EDI sounded slightly smug about this. "Angel capacity is halved while relying on tight beam communication. Only conventional means remain available."

 _Oh, marvelous._

"All ships, at the expected range of engagement we will be within striking distance of Korhal's orbital defenses." Alexei rotated the haptic screen, expecting the level of resistance. "You are free to engage any and all orbital cannons. We will also not be able to jump that close to a planetary body. Focus fire on individual ships and remember your target priority. Forward."

Alexei briefly shifted the screen away from his own AO to where Gerard was attempting to bludgeon his way through. Their own Redcoat formation having already broken, ships on both sides were now fading as empty space filled with projectiles.

"Valkyries are cleared for free use of Shrike Missiles," said Alexei, trying not to distract himself, shifting back to his own battlefield. "Nothing else matters, but we must break through!"

"Rear Admiral Ahern here," said a very seemingly disinterested voice over the comms, "we've broken through the line here at the back of the planet and are establishing groundside presence. There's practically no one living this far from Augustgrad, looks like we'll be able to proceed in peace. Approximately eight hours until we can begin our groundside assault. Several squadrons shifting to our position but we can handle it. Admiral, Vice Admiral, what's our overall status?"

"Our Daedelus is inflicting substantial casualties," grunted Gerard. "Unfortunately, they are bringing their own to bear. Orbital platforms proving difficult to dislodge, but we are holding. Alexei?"

"Closing to striking distance, about to get into the thick of it." Alexei gritted his teeth. "Solid wall of battlecruisers in front of me. Wish me luck."

Alexei had seen countless films of what it supposedly looked like when battlecruisers entered what was typically called "knife fighting range" and engaged in (cosmically) close combat. There was always a shock, and then monitors exploding. Damage reports. Cuts to outside the ship where the battlecruisers would be located comically close, as if it were the age of sail and cannon, rather than the age of nuclear reactions and STS laser weaponry … for posterity, he recorded what it looked like for his own crew. Everyone simply tensed as, somewhere else on the ship, their weapons began to fire, and they desperately hoped that no one was shooting back.

"Sixth Squadron reporting three losses to enemy Yamatos," called out an aide.

"Notify our _Gagarins_ to deploy EMP missiles into the thickest ranks of Minotaurs," replied Alexei, watching their own signature inch forward into a mass of enemy ships. "I also want a defensive matrix on this ship at all times. Commodore! Take our squadron to that orbital platform and begin deploying nukes. Clean it up quickly."

The ship shook slightly, making Alexei glance up.

"Minor broadside impact from colonial laser," reported EDI. "Negligible damage. Matrix has been deployed."

"Thank the science vessel responsible." Alexei faced the screen again. "How much orbital fire from the planet?"

"Counting at least eight cannons directed towards us," called back an aide. "Eight squadron has the clearest shot, but they're engaged with two squadrons of Minotaurs."

"Shift Second to pull them free and commence orbital bombardment of those cannons." _Pyotr_ shook as their nuclear payloads deployed. Alexei closed his eyes, imagining the massive platform going up in flames, ash raining down in its virtual atmosphere. The ship shook again.

"Matrix deflected a burst from a Thor," reported EDI. "Nuclear payload released. Orbital Platform Nihil is breaking apart."

"Press forward." Alexei's knuckles whitened against the console again. He followed the casualty reports with a fluttering heart.

"Ninth is at 40% combat effectiveness. Daedelus is moving out of range…"

"Twelfth, taking heavy orbital fire from Helios, requesting permission to level the settlement!"

"Seven here, withdrawing until Yamatos recharge, area is too thick to break through, all frigates lost."

"Ground troops have reported potential activity." Ahern's voice felt so reassuring after too many other people shrieking in panic or dismay. "Not seeing anything on scans, however. Command centers established, will shortly be shifting to a good position for our lasers to get to work on Augustgrad's walls."

Alexei nodded and opened his mouth to respond, only for the bridge to turn red and sound a klaxon call.

"Status?" he called out frantically, turning to the Commodore.

"Incoming y-"

The ship rumbled, and the back of the bridge crumpled, a hole torn in its side. The back up atmospheric generators activated immediately, preventing anyone from being sucked out or otherwise affected by pressure chambers, but there was nothing that could be done about the oxygen. Open flames raged at the edges of the impact, deadly despite their tiny lifespan.

"Masks!" called out Alexei. "Do not abandon your posts! Masks, and continue the assault! EDI, hull integrity report?" Sound was beginning to fade. Alexei calmly waited in line behind the other scrabbling crew members, snatching the emergency oxygen mask and wrapping it around his face with a grimace, his heart growing strangely slower as the panic faded. _When things are going completely wrong … it is no longer time for fear._

"Integrity is at 87%, Vice Admiral," said EDI, voice now very muted. "The defensive matrix absorbed the bulk of the blow. The bridge was subject to a glancing hit."

"Find the ship that did it and put them down." Alexei folded his arms behind his back, resuming his observation of the battle as if nothing had just happened. "Twelfth, you are clear to bomb Helios. EDI, I want all currently deployed Angels to engage on suicide attack runs on the closest largest targets, and then deploy the second wave." He shifted over to Gerard's side of the battle and nodded to himself. "We need to get these colonials over here, away from Admiral DuGalle." As Alexei shifted the haptic interface yet again to his own position, he paused as the planet flickered. His eyes narrowed.

"Is anyone else picking up a strange energy spike from the planet surface?"

Alexei's stomach lurched slightly as he received a hail of affirmatives. He watched the planet carefully as it continued to flicker.

"Ahern? Admiral DuGalle? We're picking up strange readings from the planet. We need-"

Alexei paused, realized something, and then turned the haptic display frenetically, over to where Ahern was deploying … or rather, where he had been deploying. Of his signatures, little remained.

"Ahern? Ahern?"

"It was ghosts," replied Ahern, all energy drained. "Eighty percent combat effectiveness lost. Mengsk just emptied his entire nuclear arsenal into us. All ground forces and ships in low orbit were targeted. He knew we would land here."

Alexei paused, hands balling, and then he slammed a fist against the interface, face twisting with a mix of fear and desperation.

 _Damn it … damn it!_

"Ahern, join Stukov's section and assist with the continued dismantling of Korhal's orbital defenses," replied DuGalle, voice calm even as it shook slightly. Alexei wiped his face, head pounding. _What was that? Eighty percent of one hundred and forty four ships … how many of them were Earthborn? How many widows and widowers must I write to just to account for that? We're not even in Augustgrad yet._

"Receiving transmission," said the Commodore again, his own bearing still austere, even though half of his hat had been scorched and he was forced to wear a mask thanks to the breach. "It is Captain Anderson."

"Patch him through."

"We are aboard the vessel," said the Captain, sounding breathless. "Our team is ready. We'll be inside within the hour."

"Make them pay," spat back Alexei, choking on his own rage. "Make Mengsk pay for what he has done. Show the Dominion its rotten heart."

Alexei took a deep breath. _The line is breaking. Our primary ground assault might have been obliterated, but we're not done. Anderson … make them bleed._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: David**

 **A/N: Only this one for now. Harder than I expected to write. Probably going to release them one at a time, but I think I might be able to get another one out today. Hope this suffices; it's been a while since I wrote space combat. Major thank you to NewAgeofPower, I referred heavily to his codices for this.**


	29. The Truth

**David**

They watched the footage together, utterly silent. On the opposite side of the planet, visible even from space, about half a dozen bright orange mushroom clouds blossomed from Korhal's surface. _All of those people … gone. Mengsk freely turns nukes loose on others even after losing so much to them._

Part of David knew that wasn't entirely fair, of course. Korhal's wastelands were no stranger to splitting atoms, and there really was no further damage Mengsk could do to his home planet. At that instance, he was simply searching for reasons to be angry rather than … sad. Shocked. Despairing. The image flickered as another smaller explosion bloomed, likely spelling the end for some badly panicked platoon of marines who had been missed by the original wave of death. David's hands shook beneath his suit.

"Cut the footage, Lieutenant."

Cortez complied quickly, leaving David and his team to lie back against their seats. Leng cracked his knuckles, an impressive feat given that he was wearing power armor.

"They will suffer for that," he said mildly, his gun gleaming as it lay across his lap. "Captain Anderson, do our orders still stand?"

"No execution of civilians and watch your fire," snapped David, reminded all too quickly of who would be "replacing" Shepard for this operation. "We have to occupy this planet once this is done, and that can't happen if we've been killing innocents for absolutely no reason."

Captain Leng spread his arms wide. "We're lying in wait aboard a commandeered aid vessel, Captain. A line already crossed. What's a few more, in retaliation for such … barbarity?"

"The orders stand." David leaned forward, looking into Leng's smug face. "I am in command of this operation. Disobey my orders and answer to the Vice Admiral." That wiped the grin off his face quick enough. David leaned back, elbow glancing against a crate filled with antibiotics in the process. He looked to it with a furrowed brow.

 _He does have a point, however. The people who meet us will open the ship expecting scared cargo haulers. Instead, they will receive a bullet to the face._ David shifted uncomfortably. _But … they did nuke us. Over and over. So some foul play on both sides should be allowed and expected. But I'll be damned if I let Kai Leng run amok inside the UNN Main Station._

"Approximately five minutes to arrival," reported Cortez from the cockpit, nerves as steady as ever, even as the orbit around them was ripped asunder by the constant exchange of weapons fire. "Captain – they're already buzzing me and threatening to shoot. I don't think they will, but expect them the minute you step out the doors."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant." David sighed and closed his visor while the rest of his team did likewise. His feet thrummed against the floor of the craft while he twitched his eyebrows, searching his interface for one of the few things that would help steady his nerves at this juncture. Finally, he found it.

 _Kahlee._ A photo he had taken in Brazil, celebrating the reopening of the borders and the creation of the United Earth Directorate. Having spent most of their time on shore leave in the United Kingdom, the warm shores of the Copacabana Beach seemed a welcome change. Upon arriving, however, it became clear that a few million other people had a similar idea. As a result, Kahlee occupied the picture alongside parts of about four other people … yet still, it seemed to David, she stood out.

Perhaps it was the blonde hair, so rare in this day and age, or perhaps it was the striking Union Jack bikini that David had bought for her as a joke in Ipswich, or perhaps it was the simple nostalgia that set in once the two of them parted once more for their own stations … but Kahlee Sanders always seemed to glow in that picture. He knew for a fact that she hated it, always citing a different reason when he asked why (the most consistent was that she hated her hair short) but she had never asked him to delete it, for which he was duly thankful. _As a gentleman … I would have to do it._ The ship bumped slightly, making the image shake. _I'll be okay. We'll be okay. At the very least, you aren't here for this. You're safe on Earth._ David twitched his eyebrows again, and the image faded.

"I hate seeing planets burning." Duran's words made the entire ground team look at him. His eyes were downcast, staring at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees while his hands remained intertwined. "What a waste, to do such things to one another while such horrors lurk in the galaxy."

"Pretty sure Mengsk qualifies as a horror at this stage," replied Alenko, staring at his new replacement fingers and flexing them. "Do you disagree?"

"No." Duran stared at the cockpit, where the image of Korhal had previously been transposed. "Once this is over however … the Directorate must ally with everyone they can, against the coming darkness. I am sure Tosh will agree, once we land. These attacks on the Citadel … we must become a united front once more, before the Reapers can break us apart."

"Where'd this come from?" asked David, curious. "Lieutenant?" The ship bounced again, and David realized this was not the time. Duran only stared back at him, teeth bared. He looked poised to say something, but stopped, simply slumping his head between his elbows once more before shifting, pulling his rifle by the barrel into his lap. David shook his own head. "Thirty seconds. At the doors, people."

The stacked up on either side of the doors, David taking cover behind a large crate of what he believed were vaccination supplies, feeling terrible about doing so. Across from him, Ashley Williams stared back, flashing him a thumbs up with one hand while her rifle lay across another crate of medical supplies. Kai Leng and Duran stood at the front, their guns trained on the doors. Kaidan and Jenkins took up the back, their sights wobbling with every shake of the shuttle.

"UNN roof!" called back Cortez, a faint tremor now in his voice. "They are _very_ unhappy with this landing choice. Sizeable ground presence. Open fire the minute those doors open and fucking pray that the Phantom guys Cerberus promised are both here and as good as they say."

"They are, Captain," said Duran, looking over his shoulder at David. "This will be mopped up quickly. Remain steady."

"Easy on the triggers, people," called out David as, far too soon for his taste, the shuttle's engines grew quieter and he felt his stomach drop. "We've got a long day ahead of us, and we might not be getting an ammunition resupply for some time. Try to avoid hitting our cargo as well, I have no doubt we'll find a use for it once this is done." _Humanity knows that diseases will ravage this city once it has been thoroughly wrecked. Anything we can do to ease the suffering afterwards…_

The ship landed, and David bit his lip. As the engines died, angry voices could be made out from beyond the doors.

"Opening in 3 … 2 … 1…"

"…an illegal landing! What the fuck do you people think you're-" The Dominion Officer on the other side, a woman in dress uniform, hand on the butt of her pistol, red-faced and furious, could only gape in the small moment of peace as the door opened and David's squad tensed. Then they squeezed their triggers.

The woman flew apart under the onslaught of ballistics, her dark red uniform doing nothing to obscure the brutal horror of what a mostly unarmored individual subject to gauss rounds looked like. The marines beyond her fell to the ground under the initial barrage, screaming as the rounds severed their legs and ripped through their torso before Duran silenced each of them with a rifle round. He advanced alongside Kai Leng, each clearing a side of the craft before advancing. David heard further rifle cracks coming from further away and advanced, blinking, underneath the blood red Korhal sky.

However hellish Korhal looked from orbit, it paled compared to the ground perspective. Ash rained from the heavens, air raid sirens sounded in every direction, and the sky had filled with a mixture of blackened clouds and a sky the color of a person's insides. The enormous buildings looked less like places of shelter and more like grim obelisks dedicated to the destruction, standing stark and black against the horizon, looking for all the world like they had already been depopulated and burned.

David did not have time to dwell on it, however. He crept alongside the left side of the craft with his gun still braced against his shoulder, following Duran's lead. The last of his team followed behind him. _Coast looks clear._

No sooner had he thought that and turned to the rooftop entrance, it burst open. David yelled and rounded the edge of the craft, hiding behind as much of it as he could while he took aim. Someone yelled from beyond the door, and then something went clink against the roof. With a sudden pop, smoke filled the roof.

"Anyone have a lock?" called out David. Only Duran responded in the affirmative. _We don't have time for this._ As if on cue, someone fired into the smoke, wasting precious ammunition.

"Cease fire!" called out David, looking to his left or right for the idiot, only to become aware of someone standing behind him. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, making David jump to his feet and round on the person behind him.

"Five headshots, brother," said the towering man before him, smoke curling lazily from his upward pointed rifle barrel. He wore a suit similar to Duran's, only black and gold, and slightly more thickly armored by the look of it. In addition, where Duran's hair was shaven and typically covered by the Confederate beret, Tosh's dreadlocks tumbled down his shoulders, making him resemble a lion. "Apologies for the scare. Gabriel Tosh … delighted to finally bring it all crashing down. Now, we need to get the word out before the word gets out, do you understand?"

David opened his mouth to retort before realizing that he did understand. _So … a Phantom?_

The Phantom nodded. "Tosh, brother. But no time for introductions." He jerked the butt of his rifle. Half a dozen ghosts materialized around the landing pad, each in a kneeling firing position, facing the now fading smoke. "You're the muscle, and you've got the data. We're the precision. We take you to where you need to go." He rushed forward, apparently done with the conversation, and the other Phantoms advanced with him. David followed, slightly baffled and wanting to question the Phantom further, but aware that this was not the time. _I wish we could have at least spoken at the briefing … but you were deep within the city by that point, weren't you?_

"I like these colonials," whispered Leng as they followed. "About time we see what human psionics can really do." _Wait until you see our rescue team._

The rooftop exit led to a staircase. The Phantoms stopped at the top before vaulting neatly over the bannister, briefly making David wonder if they had idly committed suicide. Then shots echoed from several different floors.

"Clear." The call echoed from several of the landings, and David descended, by the numbers even as their escort cleared the way with unnerving efficiency.

"Is this something you are capable of doing, Lieutenant?" David looked back at the ghost, who was no doubt smiling at him through the mask.

"Terrazine is a perilous substance, Captain," was his only reply. So David took it as a no.

"Fourth floor, brother," called back Tosh, sounding as if he had just taken out the washing, rather than conducting swift murder. "No civilian casualties, I was told."

"Take out only military targets." Other Phantoms jogged up the steps, their expressions hidden behind their masks. They stacked up on the door, and David let them take the lead.

"Cloaking, brother. We will provide fire support all the way through. You cannot miss it." Tosh's grin was the last thing to fade, and the metal door slammed open as if of its own accord. Shouts went up shortly afterward, and the carpet and concrete surrounding the door threshold exploded as projectiles shattered against it.

David, wishing Shepard were here, stacked up against the edge and produced a 9-banger. Nodding to Williams and Jenkins, he hooked it around the door with as much force as he could muster, and then turned away with eyes closed. Light still flashed brightly through the lids.

Williams and Jenkins were first through, while Duran had joined in on the disappearing act.

"Six on the left!" The reports of the marines' rifles sounded sharp and clear in the enclosed space, each crack echoing through the halls. Monitors shattered and people screamed as David's team advanced through the roiling mass of blinded and deafened people, trying desperately not to step on anyone and to contain his fire to the red twitching forms of Dominion security staff.

Mengsk's voice rebounded through the chaos, audible even through the thunder of their rifles and the panicked cries of his people. David headed towards the noise, mouthing a word of thanks as the corpse of a Dominion ghost tumbled from the balcony above them, landing on and breaking someone's desk.

Beyond the cubicles, monitors, and dazed employees, a massive monitor featuring Mengsk lay embedded in the wall. The man was speaking with some passion, the screen occasionally demonstrating his emphatic hand gestures, and the bold inflation of his words could still be discerned through the terrible noise of battle.

Above them from the balcony, the bodies continued to rain down, and it became rapidly evident that the Phantoms were far more of a threat to the Dominion at this point than David's team. What was particularly unnerving was the absence of sustained gunfire from above; there would be a crack or a pop here and there, and then another body would be dumped or fall from above, usually with a gurgle instead of a scream or a cry. Slowly, David's team advanced underneath Mengsk's face and into the darkness of the newsroom beyond.

As they rounded the corner on to the set, someone threw a computer at David. It bounced harmlessly off his armor and fell with an unpleasant clatter to the floor, spilling its electronic guts. A mustached man in a burgundy coat stared wildly at them, defiant even in the face of obvious impotence. David backhanded him with as little force as he could muster and sent him crashing to the floor. A woman screamed and ran to his side while David motioned for the rest of his team to fall in. He produced the drive from his belt and walked to the series of monitors that currently also displayed Mengsk's face.

"We must stand fast in this furious struggle," he proclaimed boldly, making David pause to glare at the man. "The Directorate will not stop until every culture on every Dominion world has been shattered, absorbed into their homogenous vision of what humanity should be."

 _At least we do not kill planets._ David pressed the drive into the computers to the right of the monitors. _Alright EDI. Work this. Redeem yourself._

The monitors frizzled and died for a moment. The Phantoms rematerialized, many of them now spattered with blood. Tosh flashed a wolf's grin at David as EDI finished preparing the footage.

"Overriding local security and all other broadcasts." EDI's voice sounded reassuring to David for the first time. He heaved a heavy breath and walked over to the two newscasters, checking to make sure he had not killed the burgundy one. He sat up at David's approach, scooting back in the process. _Good. You'll be conscious for this._ "Accessing all available networks and assessing coverage … roughly 85% of Citadel space, 40% of known independent space, and all of the Koprulu Sector will receive this transmission. Stand by."

"We did it," breathed Kaidan from David's side, his weapon lowered. He stared in awe at the monitors. "We actually did it." The monitors crackled into life while Tosh stood at David's side.

Slightly grainy footage now played from the monitor, a time and date stamped into the corner, the seconds ticking up. _Appears to be playing from the helmet of a marine._

"Transmission still good?" A woman's voice played from the video. Her gun was barely visible as she moved forward, a barrel moving backwards and forwards as she traversed the bright green foliage of Tarsonis. "Alright, good. Tracking the craft, let me know if you get any more intel."

Another pair of marines moved in front of her, shifting from tree to tree. Birdsong played through the monitors, and the sounds of a roaring engine could be heard in the distance.

"In our sights." The marine's view zoomed in through the tree line to a small clearing. Unfamiliar figures moved about it, crying out to one another in a language that was not English. _Oh … those are turians. Wait … did the Council not only cover up these actions but … did their people actually conduct the physical messy business as well?_

"It's the bird things," whispered the woman. "Looks like they snuck one shuttle through. They're handling … some kind of device. Orders?" The marine zoomed in on the device, a small obelisk about five feet tall, with rotating folded metal fans atop it.

The voice of her mission control, previously faded and hard to hear, suddenly became quite loud.

"Advance and destroy the device, repeat, destroy the device! All units be advised, Sons of Korhal are bringing psi emitters to bear. All SOK ground operations are to be intercepted and terminated with extreme prejudice. All available air forces proceed to following coordinates."

The woman shifted her barrel, kneeling and bracing it against a fallen log. David braced for the sound of gunfire, but it came from behind. The woman turned, the motion blur making David feel queasy, just in time for something blue to slam into her. She staggered, the camera reeling, and sharp bursts broke the birdsong. A much louder gun fired three times in quick succession.

The woman grunted and rolled, and suddenly blood could be seen on the ground. She looked down, clutching at her chest, which now burned with strange energy. _Biotics._ She reached for her weapon which had slipped out of her grasp, only for her armored wrist to be stepped on by a heavy alien foot. She looked up just in time to see the barrel of the turian's shotgun, and then the lens cracked. The camera slumped backward and turned, facing the direction of the psi emitter. The turian, no markings on his face, crouched over her body, looked to either side of him, and then activated his omnitool. After a few moments of tapping he rose, and returned to his buddies. _By the human spirit. The Council … a_ turian _pulled the trigger on Tarsonis?_

"Get all available teams there, now! Local ground assets are KIA, we need-"

The voice of the man on the other end cut off suddenly, replaced by a much louder audio of a very familiar voice.

"I owe a great many of you a debt of blood," said Mengsk, his voice low and furious. "Hear my voice and tremble, for this is the hour the Confederacy breaks. I know who is listening. Members of the Old Family, who once cried out for my family's extinction, whose hidden hands ordered Korhal's destruction. Military men, eyes widening in horror as the regime they safely enforced is suddenly torn asunder in a masterstroke. Yes, that is a psi emitter. And yes … it is now active."

"Scream as Korhal screamed. In terror. In pain. Burn as Korhal burned. And when it is done, when your planet and your families are no more than cooling ashes…"

The device thrummed in the distance. The trees shifted, their leaves crinkling with an unseen wind.

"I will forge an empire where you once stood, greater than anything you wretches could even dream of, one divorced of your memory, of your taint. Now … cry out in terror. Scream for mercy. I am the only one who can hear you."

The sky darkened. David brought a hand to his mouth, a fruitless gesture given that he was enclosed within the helmet. He watched, horrified yet transfixed, as a fresh cloud formed in the corner of the poor marine's vision.

"Tarsonis," breathed someone from behind him, making him turn. The newscaster in burgundy had slid himself against a wall. As David watched, he pulled his knees towards himself. "Oh my God. It was him. It was him all along. Oh…"

The editing magic of whoever had been responsible for the presentation of this information set in then. Image after image flashed across the screen of the skies darkening, of hunks of charred metal raining from the sky as the screaming started. It did not stop. David caught glimpses of great cities burning, of children being torn in half by pairs of zerglings as if they were dogs fighting over a bone, of a man lying in a puddle of gore, his legs melted by some zerg hellbeast's acid.

Again and again it briefly returned to the poor marine as the turians fled, as the trees became coated in pulsing corruption, as the zerg carried off her body while the ground rotted around them and Tarsonis became unrecognizable.

"January 16, 2500, a tragic day for humanity and indeed all the galaxy," said a chirpy female voice. David turned to look at the newscasters again, and the woman was holding both her hands to her mouth in shock. _Lockwell, I think. That's your voice._

"On the sixth anniversary of this tragedy, Emperor Arcturus Mengsk has declared a planet wide vigil for the victims of Tarsonis, alien and human alike, in recognition of the grief and suffering the Sector experienced that fateful day. Families of the two and a half billion victims…"

"… **are no more than cooling ashes."**

"Oh my God," the male newscaster kept muttering to himself, laughing weakly. "Oh my God…"

"Viewership swiftly escalating throughout the galaxy," reported EDI, voice crisp and somehow unreal in the face of the footage. "Footage uploaded to the extranet. Four billion hits in three minutes."

 _The whole galaxy is going to see this._ David's hands shook. _They're going to see this. And all hell is going to break loose. And it started here … with my hands. I'm … I'm not sure what I've done. This is the seed of something, of the Dominion's fall, but what will come after?_

"And this is why we have struck against you, Citizen Mengsk," boomed Admiral DuGalle's voice, the footage cutting to him, standing resplendent in his uniform against the backdrop of the UED's eagle and bolts. "This is why we have secured the relay against the Council. Why we separate the aliens and prepare to send them back. You are all complicit."

"Arcturus Mengsk ordered the emitter planted, but the Council had just as much say. And it was by their hands that Tarsonis was ended, that one man was able to effortlessly secure the titles of both history's greatest mass murderer and race traitor in the space of hours. And then, in the wake of the Great War's end, the time Mengsk was at his most vulnerable … they covered it up. They needed his help to rebuild, so they deliberately framed the greatest crime in history as … a tragic accident."

Admiral DuGalle's voice shook, and actual tears could be seen at his eyes. His arms were still folded back and his bearing was still impeccably stiff, but his face trembled with emotion.

"There are no words that can fully encapsulate the degree of both disappointment and contempt I feel towards our fellow sapients, our brethren in these stars. The turian in the video is Saren Arterius, a famed war hero and Council Spectre. For the crime of placing the emitter, he was uplifted into the ranks of the elite. Wherever you are, Saren, I hope you see this, and I hope you _quake_ at the thought of our coming."

"For this I pledge: humanity will have no part of the Council and its corrupt dealings. We will have no part of any current terran nation, all of whom were aware to varying degrees of the culpability of both the Council and Arcturus Mengsk, and yet remained silent for it was expedient."

"And we will have no part of the protoss, our so-called "guardians," for they participate in follies of their own. See the Citadel's recent attacks. See … Eden Prime."

 _Eden Prime?_ David watched in horror as footage, inexplicable footage, played from the monitors. A storm raged on in a dark and gloomy terran colony, Eden Prime, flashes of gunfire visible from the aerial view. The view zoomed in and revealed shadowy figures bearing glowing warp blades, their weapons flashing in the dark. A colonial marine fell in two pieces at their feet, and they moved on. At their side, strange insectoid beings placed frozen colonials into strange coffins and pushed them towards their ship. The footage cut repeatedly to show evidence of both parties, one capturing, the other slicing and subduing.

 _So … there are the ITSA's enemies. I wonder if they'll remain firebrands in the face of such a powerful enemy?_ David hoped so. If the protoss were indeed mankind's enemies, they would need every ally they could get.

"There is no undoing these crimes," thundered DuGalle as David turned to face his team, motioning for them to retreat and begin securing the building, for it would surely be under siege soon, and they had wasted too much time. "There is no denying the scope of them. The deliberate nature of them, as well as the cover-up that ensued once the flames died. You are all guilty … so guilty. And we, the men and women of the United Earth Directorate … we are your punishment. We are your reward."

"So to all of you, human and xeno, I say to you that this is the hour the blindfold slips away from your eyes, and you see one another as you truly are, either cowardly, desperate, and afraid, in denial of what we have shown you … or burning with anger, righteousness. Ready to do justice, no matter the cost, damn the political consequences."

"Men and women of all races … serve justice. Serve righteousness. Serve vengeance. Tear down these establishments and make these people answer for their crimes. Go mad with grief. Tear out your hair. And strike down the vipers who have lied to you, claimed to have served you. And to the men and women born of Earth, once upon a time…"

"…serve the Directorate. Serve humanity. Forward, in the name of Tarsonis, and the name of Earth!"

David and his team arrived in an empty lobby, and took up position without incident. Outside, even in the face of a planetary invasion, a riot now raged.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Wrex**


	30. Bloodrage

**Wrex**

"How bad is the resistance?" Shepard craned her head around in her suit, looking to Wrex, who stared with unblinking eyes at the footage below. "As bad as we expected?"

"You afraid, Sawbones?" The small terran known as Jack yawned in her own harness. "You're going in with the heavy hitters. There's nothing to worry about."

"The small one is unafraid?" Grunt, seated next to Wrex, turned to both Wrex and Shepard in confusion. "I do not understand. The tank spoke little of terran psionics. She is so small…"

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Jack did not appear interested. Wrex fiddled with his omnitool and turned off the footage. "Plenty of people feel like they can start shit with a woman just because she's 5'2. Then I rip their heads off without moving a muscle."

"The riot slowed the tide of reinforcements," murmured Wrex, tiring of the posturing, "but it did little for the actual number of targets to deal with. Grunt, is your blood boiling?"

"I'm ready to see the battlefield." Grunt sounded enthusiastic. He gnashed his teeth and lightly strained against the harness. "I do not know this Dominion, but I don't need to. I don't care. Just send me down there, and let me do what I was born to do."

 _Ah yes. That's the krogan spirit nowadays, isn't it? Fight for the love of it, or fight for money. There's no krogan cause worth fighting for._ Wrex grinned to himself. _But that changes today, doesn't it? I fight to prove myself worthy to the clans. Where were the krogan when the nukes burst in the atmosphere of Korhal, as the galaxy was brought to its knees by the UED? I was there. I fought. And now I will revitalize the clans – the UED's payment for my service._

That was how Wrex planned to frame it, at any rate. He shifted in his harness, waiting for the moment the AI would notify them all of the impending drop, of the slaughter's beginning.

"EDI, has David's squad suffered any casualties?" The commander seemed more nervous than Wrex had expected her to be, though it was likely simple anxiety over her comrade's wellbeing. "Is everything going okay?"

"Cerberus Phantoms have established overwatch positions on six different floors of the UNN building," replied EDI. "David's team has fortified the lobby and held it against all comers so far with no reported casualties. The Dominion appears unwilling to utilize explosives against such an iconic structure. The presence of an angry crowd of civilians is not helping matters."

"How long until drop?" rumbled Wrex, running his armored fingers along the lengthy barrel of his rifle, hearts humming with anticipation.

"Thirty seconds." Wrex grinned broadly while Grunt slammed his fists together, grunting. Shepard fiddled with her wrist mounted grenade launcher while Jack rolled her neck around her recently supplied ghost suit.

"We've got biotics, psionics, a pair of very angry krogan…" she yawned again, "…and a UED medic. Hey Shepard, how much ass do you kick again?"

"I specialize more in putting asses back together." Shepard looked up, biting her lip. The visor went down. "I've got you guys covered. Stay close and try not to attract the attention of anything I can't deal with, like artillery. I heard the Umojans have marines down there, might be a good idea to not piss them off."

"Umojans die like anyone else." Wrex gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. The lights flashed green. He turned to Grunt, aware that there were only seconds remaining. "Hard and fast drop. You might vomit." The harnesses thudded, and the walls around them began to slide as the battlecruiser slid their pod into position. Wrex faced forward and ordered his own visor to ascend. _Haven't seen a battlefield like this in a good long while._ The pod thudded once more. A brief period of weightlessness followed it … and then came the plunge.

Even jaded as he was, Wrex still clutched his rifle tightly as the pod plummeted towards the war torn earth below at incredible speeds, his hearts racing as his stomachs lurched. He thought he could hear Grunt's teeth chattering to his right, as well as a muffled curse from Jack, but in all honesty there was only the sound of roaring friction and air resistance, the scream of an orbital descent.

Just as Wrex's body acclimatized to the weightless sensation, the pod slowed abruptly, again making his insides ripple in complaint. He shifted as the pod became almost completely motionless, and then finally tensed. The harnesses flew away with a clank, and Wrex leapt forward from his seat, crashing through the still opening pod.

Madness. Utter madness. Looking around, Wrex judged his last battlefield on the KM line to have been a relatively controlled affair. The UNN building before them rained weapons fire down on to the streets. Return fire answered it, making the air fill with the sound of chattering weaponry. The terran admiral's face leered from a screen mounted above the entrance to the building, his broadcast apparently on loop. And all around Wrex, a three-way battle between Earther, Dominion military, and simply angry citizens raged. He leveled his weapon and sighted his targets. _No civilians. You see red, it's dead._

The goal was simple: proceed to the UNN building. Gather Anderson's team. Vacate the building and begin inflicting as much damage as possible to Dominion security forces while the bulk of the UED force rained down orbital pods on the city. Originally they were supposed to link up with invading ground forces from the planet's surface itself, but Mengsk had seen an end to that.

"I am krogan!" yelled Grunt, charging past Wrex with great speed. Wrex only sighed and continued squeezing his trigger, trying to recall the days of his youth where charging his enemies head on not only seemed desirable, but practical. _No … those days are long behind me._ He paused to slam a fist against his chest, making his biotics flare as the barrier formed. Almost on cue, a round bounced off his soldier and made Wrex take a step back. The perpetrator did not last long when Wrex answered in kind.

"Scattered resistance," he called out to the others. Shepard had crouched behind him, nanosutures at the ready, while Jack was strolling through the battlefield with a smile on her face, the air around her rippling. Out of the corner of his eye, Wrex glimpsed a Dominion marine emerge from an alley, only to fall to the ground following a faint crunching sound. _Hmm. Good. Not messing around. Just snap their necks and move forward._

The riot had not subsided. A roiling mass of humanity blocked the entrance to the UNN building, while a team of shield carrying marines made threatening noises and motions at the edges while still holding their fire. Citizens shouted out and occasionally threw shoes, cinder blocks, and anything else they had on hand. As Wrex advanced on the crowd, some looked to Wrex with wide eyes and others shouted and pointed … but still let them pass, recognizing who they were with. Above them, DuGalle seemed to stare on approvingly.

Reaching the lobby did not prove difficult, but Wrex knew which way the battle would eventually turn. He had not seen any actual Dominion military personnel turning their back on their duty, and he suspected that the citizens outside were merely people who were angry at Mengsk already, willing to throw everything at him even as the planet they lived on burned around them. _The kind of dedication I wish the krogan had … even if it is foolish._

"Thought we would need a bit more rescuing than we did," said the Captain, stepping forward from behind the reception desk. "Looks like revealing the truth had the intended effect."

"Your ground forces have been neutered and most Dominion citizens are aware this is a fight for life and death," said Wrex bluntly, making Anderson frown. "Getting into this lobby was never intended to be very difficult. Getting out of the city, however…"

"Hey Williams," said Shepard, bumping fists with the Gunnery Chief while Wrex glared at them. "Glad to see you weren't shot to pieces without me."

"We'll see. The day is young and Jenkins is dumb." Williams peered around Shepard and stared at Grunt and Jack. "These two proving useful? Those Phantoms upstairs really know how to make the bodies hit the floor."

"Good, because we're essentially cut off." Wrex took a good long look at the team surrounding him. _Phantoms have their own exit strategy and the Cerberus general is coordinating them. It's up to me to figure out how to keep these people alive._ "Long day ahead. Best chance is to keep moving. In minutes, the pods will come raining down."

Sharp cracks issued from outside the lobby, followed by intense screaming. _They've lost patience. They need to stop the broadcast._

"It's time for us to move," growled Wrex, motioning forward with his massive gun, taking care not to smack anyone with the enormous barrel. He didn't fear the Dominion and saw no reason to start now, but he'd have to be a fool to want to linger in the building when the entire city was likely converging on it. "Before any air or armor support shows up."

"A little late for that, krogan brother." The Phantom emerged from the staircase, his rifle barrel smoking. "We be upstairs, covering your exit. Lockdown rounds and precision fire. You cut your way free – we'll be fine. You just get to the southern gate and get it open."

"Ground forces are neutered," said David, teeth gritted. "What's the point?"

"Landing people outside the city should reduce the casualty of fresh arrivals," said Shepard, looking to Tosh for acknowledgement, which she received in a brief nod. "Not as good as letting in a few thousand screaming marines with armored support, but it's what we got."

Jenkins fired three times with his rifle, and a previously inconspicuous turret set up in a corner likewise let free a sharp burst. The return fire was immediate, shattering the ground floor windows and making Wrex's human allies take cover. He and Grunt only stood firm, planting a foot forward.

"Southern gate!" he bellowed, his visor lighting up with targets. Wrex, Jack, and Grunt lowered their shoulders … and charged.

Gauss rounds flew over their shoulders and into their barriers as they advanced, Wrex bellowing, Grunt laughing, Jack cursing. As they cleared the opened doors of the lobby, Jack and Wrex leapt as one, bringing their ancestor-given energy to bear. Their armored fists shook the pavement, letting free two waves of raw energy, one blue and crackling, vibrant and violent. The other invisible yet even more forceful, rage and sadistic glee given bone crushing form and malevolent purpose. Wrex did not pause, pulling his fist free of the tiny cherry red crater he had created in the concrete and instead advancing towards the few marines still standing, still reeling from the blow.

To his left, Grunt was delivering a series of dizzying blows, his reinforced helmet being tested again and again against any foe he could bring into his reach, his shotgun blazing against every foe outside of it. Jack, meanwhile, simply stood in the center of it all, chunks of debris floating over her shoulder and spinning madly. Every second or so one piece would blur and go flying, directed with pinpoint accuracy at some unlucky foe. High above, aircraft hung in space, locked down by Tosh and his Phantoms, likely staring down at Wrex and his associates with a mix of fear and awe.

 _Blood's pumping._ Fighting the Dominion was still not terribly exciting; Tosh's contributions were making it too easy in that regard. But fighting alongside Grunt and Jack … that was new. That was in some ways exhilarating. Wrex shouted in approval as Grunt staggered a Dominion marine with a shotgun blast to the chest before following it up with a quick charge towards him, smashing his armor apart and sending him reeling. His own blood was not yet boiling … yet he suspected that would shortly change. _Doing okay. Doing well._ A terran craft Wrex recognized as a Banshee casually exploded overhead, one of its engines having been struck by one of Tosh's people. The hot debris rained around them, either caught by Jack and hurled away with force, or bouncing harmlessly off of Wrex and his people. Anderson's team crept out of the building, Shepard ran towards them-

Wrex heard the whistling after they struck. Concrete mushroomed in a vast impact to his left, almost breaking his barriers and sending him careening in the opposite direction, colliding with an overturned police vehicle and finally shattering his defenses. Hearts pounding, he regained his senses even as his ears rang and vision blurred, just in time to see a column of blue light descend from the heavens, followed shortly by a pellet of light which descended into the earth with awesome force, creating another shockwave. Wrex rose and grabbed his weapon on the way up, inwardly marveling at how tightly he must have been gripping it. A hulking yet somehow feminine form dashed out of the wreckage, clad in all black powered armor. She looked up at him, and Wrex realized exactly what he was dealing with.

 _You idiots still siding with the Dominion? Maybe you should listen to DuGalle up there._ It didn't matter. Wrex had a split second to choose between reinforcing his barriers or pulling the trigger and trying to smear the asari, and he chose the former, blinking with the slight strain. The asari blurred, and Wrex braced his foot against the car behind him. It didn't help much.

Wrex cried out at the force of the impact, his barriers shattering again as his weapon fully flew from his grip. He grunted in pain as something hot took advantage of the broken barriers, jagged pieces of metal eating into his flesh. Reflex took over and he charged, bringing his head down in an arc, trying to smash whatever was before him. His fists flailed about as a temporary surge of rage took over. All he caught was air.

Wrex slammed his chest and brought his barriers back up, all too aware of the blood now dripping down his armor. He turned his head this way and that, trying to find the asari. Only dust and curling smoke could be seen. Naturally, he immediately checked behind him, just in time to see the shotgun barrel coming round the side of the overturned car. He extended a hand and issued a push, directing the barrel to the side far enough that the gun only ended up torturing the concrete rather than Wrex. The asari did not emerge, so Wrex did the logical thing and heaved a biotically empowered shoulder into the vehicle, flipping it over with a massive crash. Wrex smiled at the aftermath, an asari in powered armor struggling to get back to her feet, barriers broken and weapon torn from her grasp. Knowing better than to come any closer, he unleashed a warp into the back of her neck, showering the concrete with red.

 _Must be getting old. Feel like I need a break._ Naturally there was to be no break. Enormous booms now rocked the city as projectiles streaked from the heavens and made violent contact with the city, the Umojans and UED alike sending in their best infantry to try and establish control. On his own street, Shepard ducked behind Grunt and fed a constant stream of nanosutures as he tried and failed to keep up with a nimble asari marine in melee combat, an overhead Banshee lit up the upper floors of the UNN building with an impressive series of explosions, sending shockwaves of rippling orange across the structure, and David's team screamed at one another as they took up position behind the fresh pieces of steaming wreckage, their weapons a low chattering in the background as the city went mad.

Wrex took hold of the rage and insanity, even as his blood ceased to flow from his wounds and the pain faded. He reclaimed his rifle and took careful aim, teeth pressed firmly together, waiting for the moment his helmet would tell him it was clear to make a further mess of things. It did not take long.

Helmets shattered. Chest plates compacted. Limbs flew free of crimson armor and sprayed a hot red mess on to the scorching earth. The Banshee overhead faded from sight as Wrex set its engine afire with a biotic warp, forcing it to cloak and relocate. He roared throatily as he advanced, freeing his comrades from the cage of bullets and biotics, systematically destroying anything that might threaten them. Then he charged past them, into the whirlwind of chaos, most of his purpose lost. The bloodrage was upon him, and it had been too long, _far too long._

White armored marines, taller than the ones Wrex was used to seeing, attempted to halt his passage. Their weapons tore through his barrier and even sheared through part of his crest, an injury that would drive other krogan mad … but Wrex was already there. He charged into them, vision blurring as the biotics took hold, his armor denting and folding with the impacts. For a moment basic survival instincts hissed to him that it was too much, that they would fell him … but it was not to be. At such a close range there was no use for guns, and Wrex had discarded his already. Glowing blue fists and a club made of a fallen Umojan's armored arm made short work of the panicking marines, none of whom were likely prepared to deal with an armored and biotic opponent who moved so quickly.

His wounds stung and the hissing blood seemed to quiet. Wrex turned around, glimpsed more massive white armor, this one emblazoned with a red cross. A half-forgotten memory urged him to stay his hand, and he did, grunting in exertion. He returned to the task at hand.

Soldiers took to the rooftops. They bore white armor and carried enormous guns fueled by backpacks, and whatever they were firing made the air faintly distort and cut foes in half. Whatever they were doing, it was with pinpoint accuracy that gave Wrex pause, even in his enraged state. Elsewhere, automated turrets fired from the insides of buildings, reminders that UED combat engineers apparently never left any area they went through unsecured. Buildings shuddered and crumbled as aircraft and artillery alike abandoned all restraint in ousting these usurpers, these men who wished to condemn them for their crimes.

Wrex took all of it in, but never stopped moving, never stopped pounding dirt. Dominion marines stood their ground and died. Umojan marines stood their ground, did some damage, and then died. Asari marines danced around Wrex with infuriating swiftness and occasionally affected an escape, but none could break through Wrex in the end. Each time he felt himself slow, a prickling sensation would emit from his wounds, and he would find himself rejuvenated. Occasionally he would remember the source of this relief, but it never lasted. He was sure someone followed him, but his brain only acknowledged foes now, not friends.

A statue of Mengsk fell, shattering already, even in its collapse, breaking apart entirely once it hit the ground. White armored marines, smaller than the others before, cheered and even opened their visors to spit on it. No sooner had Wrex reached them then they turned to ash, a grand explosion cratering the earth they walked. Wrex made an about face and stared up and up at one of the grand walls of Augustgrad. The barrels of siege tanks stood starkly against the blood red sun.

And so, Wrex resolved to climb, charging forward and hugging first the structures and then the wall itself, endeavoring to remain outside the scope of the guns, his hearts thundering all the while. He crashed through a thick wall with an empowered fist, storming through a crowd of shocked refugees, powering through another, searching desperately for a means up. Someone followed behind him, shouting. He wished they would stop.

Wrex found the means to reach the top of the wall where the guns and the men lay in wait for him, calling out in challenge. A roadblock, men in armor and inside mechanized walkers. He chuckled to himself as he stared out the window of the residence he now occupied, ignoring the cries of the family huddled in the corner and the muffled bleating of the not-enemy who had elected to follow him about. The guards at this blockade looked about with great confusion, having heard the ruckus Wrex made as he took any shortcut he could, even if it involved tunneling through buildings with nothing more than his massive armored fists. He proceeded past the family and to the second floor, grunting in satisfaction as he located a balcony facing the blockade.

Wrex stood atop the balcony, the wood caving in as he brought his weight to bear on it. For a brief, shining moment, one of the Dominion Goliath pilots looked up and stared at Wrex, meeting his bloodshot gaze with panicked eyes. Wrex took two steps back and then _flew_ , trailing bright blue light _._

For a brief moment, all was weightless. Wrex's blood surged and churned within his body, filling his skull, his hearts, his being. He raised a fist and prepared it for the impact, feeling his body bracing itself, preparing for yet another enormous impact. Loudspeakers screamed and Wrex … Wrex descended.

His fist punched clear through the chassis of the Goliath, and the biotics shot through it, making its legs fly off and energy emit in every direction. Wrex's suit shrieked at the shock and the heat, warning him that he was taking it too far, that the stresses were proving too much, but he was krogan and he would survive. The Goliath fell to the ground but Wrex had already detached, aiming a shockwave at those still standing. Again, the ground could not withstand his passage, cracking and cratering in his wake.

Wrex surged forward, snatching a gun from the shaking arms of a screaming marine and slamming the barrel across his face, breaking the visor and sending him sprawling. Two more Goliaths showered him with shells, breaking his barriers and making him bleed, but a quick tug to both their legs disrupted their aim and sent them sprawling. Wrex sent forth a warp, melting the armor and trying to reach inside for the terrified pilots with his biotics, rushing forward all the while. He did not manage to fully break inside with the warp alone, instead pummeling the smoking metal with the butt of his stolen gun and breaking through, arms trembling with anticipation as he felt inside for the pilot's head and pulled it free. The not-enemy shouted at him once again.

Wrex turned to face the other one, who had ejected and now limped as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Wrex did not have time for pursuit and silenced the woman with a quick burst. He turned his hungry eyes towards the service elevator that would take him atop the wall.

Night was falling. The blood red sun vanished behind the ashen horizon, making the flashes of weaponry and projectiles all over the city become all the more beautiful. Wrex and his not-enemy stood atop the elevator and watched the blazing display, Wrex panting and almost slavering, the other one trying to grab his arm and speak to him. He shoved her away roughly, his brain not fully registering. He checked the grenade launcher mounted to the rifle and grunted in appreciation. He knew what waited for him at the top.

The opposition had taken pains to form in a straight line, a bristling wall of bayonets and glistening barrels facing the elevator entrance. The not-enemy cowered behind a scorch-marked shield and readied some strange weapon on her wrist while Wrex leveled his weapon with one hand, finger on an alternate trigger, and prepared his biotics with the other. The quiet part of his brain, the one concerned with _when_ to slaughter, grew a little louder. _My arm is shaking._ Fresh scars marked it. But it was too late. Both sides opened fire.

Light flashed through the visor, his companion's contribution. The rest – nothing more than flame. Wrex strode through the fresh chaos as orange and blue met in a deafening crescendo of shrapnel and warped matter, his grin showing through the fresh hole in his mask. _When did this happen?_ The voice grew louder. Wrex's eyes rolled and blinked, trying to shift the blood away from them.

To the right stood Augustgrad, once gleaming, now smoky and fading, its skyline a harsh mixture of tumbling ruins and the few buildings that still stood fully intact. To the left – nothing more than the desert that Augustgrad threatened to become, somehow threatening in its vastness and bleakness, even more desolate than far off Tuchanka. But Wrex had no time. Siege tank turrets swiveled in his direction, their drivers no doubt shrieking expletives at one another as they realized the krogan was atop the wall. His not-enemy fired her weapon once, twice, three times, and suddenly the turrets swiveled madly. He advanced into the waiting guns of the marines.

Wrex coughed and stumbled this time, his gun roaring and his barriers … faltering? A flash of light ended the hail of bullets and let Wrex close the distance and vent his still considerable fury on the hapless terrans, but the voices grew louder and louder, trying to wrest control free from the blood rage. Pain crept in at his knees, in his chest, from his face. Wrex only shook his head and followed the length of the wall, watching the silhouette of the malfunctioning siege tanks grow larger. Wrex meant to leap atop of them, but could only manage a pathetic hop. He settled for mantling the first and tearing open the hatch with a ragged grunt, carelessly dropping a freshly acquired grenade inside. Smoke and screams billowed from the hole.

Wrex limped to the second tank and looked to the skies. Dark clouds obscured the now emerging moon, and nothing new fell from the heavens. He looked to the skyline and watched the crisscrossing vehicles, fireflies floating above a ruined morass. Wrex, hearts slowing, mind and body alike growing sluggish, pulled himself atop the second siege tank. This time, white and armored hands had to help pull it open, and Wrex found himself unable to pull the pin free of the grenade for several moments. He still dropped them in, even if he felt no pleasure in doing so.

"You fucking idiot." Wrex fell to his knees at these words, sliding off the chassis of the tank and feeling great relief at colliding with the ground. Someone helped him to his feet, but at this stage the blood rage was telling him to do nothing more than _die_ , for clearly he had failed to overcome his foe and as a krogan, he may as well not go on. His hearts nevertheless beat on stubbornly, ignoring the message. Wrex's feet slammed into the earth with great finality, his furious charge now nothing more than a defeated plod.

"I'm out of nanosutures and you're a wreck." The not-enemy dragged him up a flight of stairs. A flash of light filled the air and Wrex found himself carried inside a tower filled with groaning soldiers and beeping computers. He slid to the ground as his companion left him unassisted, instead choosing to roughly shove or carry out their foes and leave them outside the tower while she fiddled with a console.

"Captain? You owe me a beer, I managed to keep up with him. He's alive for now … we're in the southern gate tower. EDI, I'm giving you access … for all the good it will do." The medic, for Wrex now remembered that it was a medic, turned to look at him, visor up, face a mixture of concern, pity, and anger. "He's pretty much out of it, and judging from the situation we're in, evac is not an option. If you don't get up here, we're both done." A grinding clank echoed through the sullen night air, and slowly, something heavy began to move. "Gate's open."

Black spots appeared in Wrex's vision, fascinating him. He barely registered the angry shouts coming from outside, followed by a series of sharp cracks. More half-remembered not-enemies ducked inside, their armor dented, bloodied, and burned.

"We can't get a foothold." Wrex listened, even though he did not know what it meant. He rolled over slightly and watched a curious machine on stilts scan the door, firing outside in short bursts. "Your krogan is about the only one who made an impact. They're targeting medics and shelling indiscriminately. Any rioters are met with bullets. Mengsk is cracking down. Where the hell are Leng and Duran?"

Another krogan sat in the room with him. Wrex felt it odd that he had no especial desire to fight him, nor did the other krogan seem keen to engage him. The young one would grunt and laugh, fire outside the windows and doors and occasionally stop to check on Wrex, look him in the face with bright blue eyes…

Wrex felt a hard impact on the side of his face, making his eyes roll and his vision briefly return to its normal crispness. Shepard stood over him.

"We're pinned here, and it's only a matter of time until someone either just shells the tower or sends in proper air support." She did not seem happy. Wrex opened his mouth to ask for something to eat, but nothing came out beyond a faint rasp. She shook her head in disgust. "Grunt? Don't do what he did. Assuming we live through the night."

"Sure you don't have any nanosutures left?" The young terran, the subject of much mockery. "Need to know how badly I'm fucked if I take a bullet."

"Your suit has autocoagulators, stop being a fucking drama queen." The angry female. Not Shepard, the one who actually used her anger to strike out. "What's the orbital status? And how's our ammo?"

"Not good and not good." The quiet one, with the false fingers. He inspected his automated toy with a worried expression, a bloody streak across his face, his helmet missing. "They're landing troops and armor outside the city and moving in, but we've got reports of two fleets moving towards us, one almost on us. I think they might retreat."

"We've bled for every inch here, made an enemy of how many fucking governments, and now they're going to abandon us?" The commander, the lifegiver. "No, I refuse to believe that. EDI – I need a resupply at these coordinates … tell whoever's listening that we've got the krogan leader with us and I can't administer medical attention unless they drop autosutures … just do it, dammit!"

"You should see this," murmured the other krogan, lifting Wrex up and shifting his head with forefinger and thumb, lifting Wrex's chin up to look through the shattered door and into Augustgrad. "It's beautiful."

The streets glittered with the armor of the struggling and the fallen. Gunshots and clashing blades alike reverberated across the city, filled every building, every street. Atmospheric aircraft crisscrossed the mounds of fallen and damaged skyscrapers, their weapons flashing in the dark. And everywhere, the background noise of a dying civilization. Sirens. Klaxons. Screams of rage. Pain. Wrex breathed, and wondered how much of its consisted of dust. Of blood. His hearts pounded. His vision sharpened further.

"Stepping outside for the box – just cover me!" The medic dashed with impressive speed, and someone else joined in to help prop Wrex up. The medic reemerged from the doorway, forcing something into her wrist and flexing her arm.

"Emergency sutures and a toned down stim shot," she snapped, a glistening green needle snapping from her wrist. "Honestly, I hope this hurts a bit."

Wrex shuddered and moaned as the needle sunk into his neck, his head held in place by the other krogan. Fingers of warmth uncurled in his veins, and suddenly, Wrex could stand again, even if he did not know why.

"Letting you come was a stupid idea." Shepard seemed more worried than angry, but both fed into one another. "Grunt! Lead the charge. Normandy's going to attempt an emergency evac outside the city. Coordinates on omnitool. Dominion is moving street to street, house to house, room to room. They're not going to like us moving him. Wrex – follow."

"Vice Admiral, we've got the package and are falling back." Captain Anderson was taking charge on other matters. "Sir – either we commence orbital bombardment and try to level the palace, maybe killing Mengsk, or we draw this out and most likely lose the opportunity. I am on the ground and the situation is dire. How long before the unexpected fleet arrives … are we sure they're Dominion? Is there _anything_ left of the KMC that is readily available?"

Wrex staggered forward, assisted by Shepard, covered by her team. As they emerged into the black of the night, away from the soft lights of the computers, it was to meet the applause of chattering guns. Wrex grunted as a round struck his arm, but otherwise barely noticed. The wound did not last long under Shepard's care. The elevator slowly grew larger in his vision. He passed out during the descent and yet somehow remained standing, awaking as Shepard nudged him forward.

Grunt ran to and fro, his shotgun discarded, now brandishing an Umojan gauss rifle. Asari fell from the heavens and prompted shrieked curses from the people around them, but a mixture of incineration tech and Grunt's brutal melee strikes managed to either put them down or drive them back. Even so, Shepard abandoned Wrex momentarily to supply aid to the Captain and Alenko, both of whom leaked blood from numerous suit breaches.

The night wore on. The squad paused to let a lumbering Thor pass, its spotlights sweeping the street while the missiles on its back periodically fired into the air, vanishing inside the distant, billowing clouds. Shadowy men and women leapt across rooftops above and made Wrex feel a stab of fear despite himself. From their silhouettes, rifles could clearly be seen slung across their backs.

They trudged onward through the streets, stepping across and sometimes on the scattered bodies of Dominion, UED, and Umojan alike, their armor all looking the same color in the blackness of the night. From somewhere deep in the city, Mengsk's voice boomed, strangely comforting in its tone, even despite him being their greatest foe. _Is he truly? How much of this is my concern? How is my being here helping the krogan? All my presence is doing … is allowing me to say I participated._ Wrex shuddered and coughed, and Shepard pounded on his back. A gob of something hideous and sticky emerged from Wrex's throat and fell mercifully out of sight. _I am too old for this._

They stumbled towards the gates, the final stretch across a plaza rife with detritus. A fountain, blown apart and long dry, chunks of it accidentally sent skittering by ill placed feet. A lone staircase stretching towards the stars, covered with ash, the building surrounding it nothing more than wreckage. A statue of Mengsk, somehow untouched, facing the gate and welcoming newcomers to Augustgrad…

"Oh _shit._ "

Loudspeakers blared and lights shone. From behind one of the gates came heavy footfalls. A Thor emerged from their supposed exit, making Wrex sigh with frustration. Shepard shoved him roughly and the team scattered as the Thor swiveled its search lights, trying to get an idea of the opposition and where it was. Shepard shoved Wrex behind the staircase and ordered him to stay before turning and running back towards her comrades, who fired single shots at the Thor before immediately vanishing further away from the gate, deeper into the chaos that lay in the deeper city. _Trying to draw it away, maybe?_ The Thor's cannons thundered, and the ground shook. _Useless. Old._ A hand reached out. His hand. He pulled himself forward. _Got yourself into this mess. Thought you had to. Let the blood rage take over, simply because it had not for too long. Thought yourself invincible._ Blue light blossomed from between his bloody fingers, and Wrex pulled himself forward on his belly.

 _What am I accomplishing here? What does killing Mengsk matter, really?_ Wrex pulled himself forward again, falling from the foundation of the house that once contained the staircase, and landing in a rough sitting position. Slowly, he pushed himself up. The Thor shouted nonsense at his distant friends and made Wrex's ears throb in discomfort. As he stood, hand still glowing with nascent energy, a faint bloom of pinkish orange crept into the sky. The ground shook, and Mengsk's voice filled the distance.

Wrex took an unsteady step forward, hearts pounding with effort. The Thor turned, its searchlights swiveling, seeking another target. _But this is the one you get._

Wrex pulled back a fist and threw the warp, the last energy in his being fleeing as he did so. He collapsed bonelessly, even as brilliant aqua light filled the ruined plaza. His head rolled involuntarily, just in time to see the scorched and bullet riddled main chassis of the Thor bubble from his final attempt at being relevant … and then fall away. The pilot, however shocked he might have been, still levelled his cannons. Wrex closed his eyes.

A sharp crack broke the silence, and yet Wrex felt no heat or pain. His eyes opened again, jerking in their sockets. A lone terran with a long rifle stood over him in a shooter's position, his eyes looking down a scope. He laughed and flashed a smile.

"It is fortunate that you have such dedicated friends, is it not? Confirmed headshot!" Duran pulled Wrex to his feet, somehow ignoring the size. "Come, good krogan. It is time you were sequestered … your contribution has been noted and indeed, I think it is about to fully pay off."

Wrex had no idea what the terran jabbered on about, he could only focus on his strange scent and the rushing within his ears. _I need to eat. And sleep. And then eat some more._ A loud buzzing threatened to drown everything out. Still, somehow, the first fingers of dawn's light graced the horizon.

Duran's squad fell in line behind him, a loud argument breaking out in the process. Nevertheless, Wrex could sense gratitude within the anger, and almost nodded in approval. _Good. He did good._ The battle might still be lost, but only one other krogan would ever be able to claim that he had soaked the soil of Augustgrad with the blood of worthy enemies. _And that will … be something to tell my children … perhaps. Someday._ The road gave way to sand. The brilliant dawn began to turn a savage red.

"They're here," said Duran suddenly, looking up and making Wrex follow suit. "The fleet."

"So … that's it then." Captain Anderson shrugged, looked poised to drop his rifle. "May as well find someone to surrender to. No point throwing your lives away … unless any of you still have some fight left? Or if Stukov has the balls to still order us evacuated? This is still fucked."

Low humming filled the horizon as the sky bled freely, the sun looking somehow larger and threatening when behind such a heavy layer of smoke and death. It may have been Wrex's imagination, but he thought he could hear distant drums, horns, a series of deep and heavy voices.

"Checking with EDI…" Alenko frantically tapped his omnitool and held something to his ear, listening intently. "Um … that's not Warfield." The chanting grew louder, and something stirred in Wrex's memory. _Familiar…_ Countless black ships now emerged from the crimson horizon. Heavy drumbeats echoed across the sand. Duran peered around Wrex's shoulder and smiled widely at him.

"Normandy is inbound." Kaidan closed his omnitool with a tired smile, then shaded his eyes and stared in the direction everyone else was facing. "Um … what are those supposed to be?" The chanting increased in speed, intensity, and volume. A horn sounded, making Wrex's bones hum.

"Not KMC," muttered Anderson, staring. "Not UED. Not Umojan. Not ITSA, or asari, or turian, or protoss, or…"

Everyone's radio crackled, and Wrex grinned. _I know who this people are. About time they did something of worth._

"Fleet Admiral Dekeer, Batarian Admiralty," grunted a deep voice. "It's a long way home, we could use some friends, and as I recall, we had an agreement." He chuckled. "KMC might need new branding, but the Hegemony is forever. It is time to strike fear into the heart of Mengsk, and let the galaxy see us standing on the side of undeniable justice. Soldiers of the Hegemon – cut the heart out of this vile Dominion!"

Heavy drumbeats shook the air and the batarians rent the heavens with their war cries. Wrex looked to the open gates of Augustgrad and shook with laughter at the madness of it all.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tychus**


	31. Gettysburg

**Tychus**

 _Riding in with the cavalry._ Tychus's legs dangled out the open side of the craft, watching with faint awe as the dozens, perhaps hundreds of batarian shuttles maintained loose formation and sped through the wastes of Korhal. From each craft, strange and apparently untranslated series of words boomed across the landscape, broken only by a heavy drumbeat. _It's … savage. Stirs something … older. Primitive? No, the other word … something similar._ Tychus chewed his lit cigar before puffing it, watching the stream of smoke get carried away by the cold wind.

"Declan," called out Jim, his words reverberating through the helmet of each Raider in the final ground assault, "what the hell are they saying? Translator's not catching any of it."

"Archaic words deliberately left out of most if not all galactic translators," grunted back Declan, voice nibbled by static. Tychus strained to focus on his words through the chanting, the wind, and the distant sounds of battle. "Unnerves the enemy. There's a few different versions reserved for different circumstances and this one … is worrying."

"How so?" Tychus caught Jim shifting forward on the seat behind him, a hand placed to his helmet.

"Certain phrase. Humket. Taboo name, now regarded as the highest insult. He was … a traitor to Karza. Fastest way to get a batarian to knife you is to call them that." Declan now sounded slightly anxious. "Makes the troops angry. Only gets used when the admirals feel it's prudent to use vicious and overwhelming force on a foe. It's … the worst thing to call an enemy."

"I ain't too torn up about it." Jim looked to Tychus, grinning. "Seems like it's 'bout time Mengsk got his, and I'm glad your folks agree." Jim flashed Tychus a thumbs up, somehow happier now that he was about to go into battle than he had been since Tychus got popped out of cryo.

"You ready, partner?" Tychus placed a steadying hand against the bottom of the craft and inched himself closer. He briefly checked his right to get a good look at the fast approaching Augustgrad, the buildings standing dark and stark against the bright desolation that surrounded them. _Can't believe the Confederacy nuked this place like this … and that Mengsk would drop a few hundred more just because it seemed like a good idea. Of course, having seen the Tarsonis footage … that's enough to make an enemy of anyone in a matter of moments._

"I been ready for six years." Jim slid his visor down, the grinning painted skull replacing the grinning unshaven man. One hand maneuvered the gauss rifle against his shoulder while the other patted his holster, checking the butt of the revolver that nestled there. "UED seems intent on keepin' their promise to me. Don't know about the other shit they've been pullin', but I'm grateful for this at least."

"Fifteen seconds!" Tychus grunted and scooted back into position, checking behind him to stare briefly at his brother in arms who would be dropping with him.

"How 'bout you, partner?" Tychus asked the hulking figure, trying not to smile too hard lest his cigar fall from his lips and roll about the craft, causing mischief. "You ready?"

"With great determination and genuine rage: let's fuck this place up."

"Drop!"

Tychus, remembering well his days spent fighting for the Confederacy, made sure not to spend a single moment looking down or considering just what he was about to get himself into. He simply spat his cigar off the craft, closed his visor, and pressed his palms against the lip of the craft. Tychus fell like a stone down a well, the whole world waiting to hear what kind of noise he would make when he hit the bottom.

The already scorched and cracked tarmac buckled further at his landing, a small chunk of the road flying straight up into the air as Tychus's weight levered it with sudden force. Tychus shouldered his weapon immediately and stepped forward three paces, making room for the next person to drop behind him. His visor alive with signs of life but no clear hostiles, Tychus took a moment to flick his vision upwards, towards Mengsk's Palace.

It still stood, apparently untouched, towering over all the other buildings, its enormous crimson banners still waving stubbornly in the stiff morning breeze. Below it, far below it, Tychus could just barely make out the top of the fortifying walls surrounding the Emperor's home. _Not a scratch on them either._

Of course, the story everywhere else was completely different. The chatter of gunfire and shouts of men and women playing at war now faded into the background at the batarians' coming, and the sky now clearly belong to them. Everywhere Tychus looked, black and grey shuttles hung in the air, their engines belching some kind of exhaust, furious batarians in power armor dropping like he had while the ones without rappelled on to the street and to the rooftops. _And there's the word again. Humket._ Their chant seemed to be changing from a series of words with _humket_ thrown in … to just the word itself, repeated over and over. Muffled booms echoed from further in the city, and Tychus's jaw set under his helmet. _Well … until I saw that video, weren't much for me to get excited about. Not much at stake for ol' Tychus. But now … let's put this bastard down._

"Shepard, Duran, and Grunt are meeting up with us at the juncture of Third and East Central," yelled Jim, motioning forward with his rifle, surrounded all around by his Raiders. _Shit. Norad II must be almost empty._ "Jack was last spotted near Victory Square, sittin' on a pile of skulls. Link up with her there, then we need to bust down those fuckin' walls Mengsk is hiding behind. Time to man up!"

"Raiders roll!" cried out Declan, Jenny, Buck, Tychus, Trome, Xeltan … even the Cerberus woman, Miranda, who was nearly unrecognizable beneath her white and gold CMC suit.

"This is Petrovsky, investing advanced ground teams close to the wall – batarian involvement means we might have a non-pyrrhic shot at this." Tychus paid the chatter as much mind as he could, even as he joined the dozens of other Raiders on their charge down the street, the sound of men and woman stomping in power armor almost drowning out the batarians' ongoing chanting. "Umojan forces are disengaging and pulling to the outer edges of the city … think they've had enough of dying for a dictator. Vice Admiral, orbital status?"

"Dominion fleets are almost pushed into the Korhal atmosphere," replied Stukov, sounding tired but still gleeful. _Victorious._ "I was told that no one could project short term force like the batarians … my compliments to you and your men Dekeer. Now – let this be our hour. Admiral DuGalle?"

"Authorizing light bombardment of palace perimeter." Tychus grinned up at the heavens. "Enough people have died for our cause today. Mr. Raynor, I hope to see you and your men groundside presently, once Duke and both Mengsks are accounted for."

The column of Raiders stopped briefly to link up with the trio from Anderson's squad who had not yet succumbed to injuries and combat fatigue. Tychus could only gape at the ragged holes in Commander Shepard's armor, some of which had actual wiring poking out of them. The new krogan, Grunt, his armor was no better, but Tychus had experienced enough of krogan rage to recognize that armor was something of a formality for krogan. He certainly did not seem worse for wear, and indeed seemed to be muttering an imitation of the batarian chant under his breath.

"Jim," said Duran, stepping forward and offering a small bow. "It has been a long night but promises to be a bright day. May I follow you into battle, for this last charge of our crusade?"

"Be disappointed if you didn't, man." Jim clapped Duran on the shoulder (lightly, Tychus assumed, given the strength of his power armored hand) and looked to Shepard, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Er, you sure you're okay?"

Shepard, visor open, spat on the ground beside her before grimacing. "Haven't taken a bad hit yet and I really want to see the end of this." She jerked a thumb to Grunt. "Besides, can't leave the kid unattended." Grunt bared his teeth and laughed to himself. _Glad he's on our side._

"Then this is the end, ladies and gentlemen." Duran beamed a genuine smile, and pointed to the walls. "At your word, Jim."

"Dorothy Park," said Jim immediately. "We hit it and skirt around the edges of the wall, picking up Jack on the way. We set charges all along the park's edges and make a big old hole in the wall, and Mengsk's heart. Duran, I want lockdown rounds on the tanks. If you could get Tosh and his goons over here, I'd appreciate it. Miranda – let Petrovsky know." Jim cracked his knuckles and looked to Tychus. "Let's pick up the girlfriend and finish this."

"Ten four, old buddy." Jim turned back to face the walls while Tychus just smiled underneath the helmet. _Hell. About time the old Jim came back for a spell. I was startin' to get sick of mood ol' bastard Jim._

The ruined streets offered no resistance, only obvious hints of what the previous night had done to Augustgrad. Bodies piled the streets, men and women of Umoja, Korhal, and Earth alike. Massive craters lay quietly smoldering in the centers of roads, pools of ash collecting in their centers. Wounded cried out from against the sides of buildings, some tended to by the astonishingly effective UED medics, many more in vain. Shepard stopped for a few and supplied relief, but most of the time the Raiders only pushed onwards together, shouting and pointing. Xeltan cantered along at a speed Tychus had never seen him reach before, the twin railguns on his back waving stiffly with his violent bucking. And all around them, surging and bellowing, the batarians advanced, their shouts making Tychus's heart beat a little faster.

Jim had to stop Tychus and point in the direction of where Jack had last been reported by Tosh's team – the now deserted and apparently poorly named Victory Square, formerly home to the largest statue of Arcturus Mengsk, now home only to the largest pair of metal feet.

"Grab her and meet up with us!" Jim shouted. "Could use the help, but we gotta keep movin'. I'll see you up the way. Don't take too long!" Tychus nodded and raised a finger in acknowledgement, but Jim was already gone, shouting instructions on what to do upon reaching the wall. Tychus strode into the quiet of the Plaza and circled the statue. _Huh. I ain't surprised._

"I've been pretty busy, hoped it was you," said Jack, sitting cross legged atop the decapitated and yet somehow still smug-looking metal head of Mengsk. Unlike Duran, it was clear she had spent the night fighting – large holes in the armor, a bloodied bandage at her side, another at her head. Nevertheless, she still grinned at him, extending a hand crusted with a familiar dried dull brown substance. Tychus lightly took her hand and helped her down. "So – wanna waste some time? And some people?"

"Honey, I'd like nothin' better." He pointed a thick metal finger to the now disappearing column of blue power armor. "All the Raiders stickin' together, gettin' ready to blow Mengsk's palace to high hell. We're invited."

Jack adopted a wicked grin. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've always dreamed of looting a palace."

"Oh, darlin', who hasn't?"

Laughing openly and with hands linked, they charged together towards the distant green, kicking aside the body parts of Dominion forces unlucky enough to encounter Jack during the night, desperately trying to keep up with the history that was now in the making. In the distance, the familiar thunder of siege cannons sent up plumes of dirt and smoke, threatening to supplant the batarians as the loudest thing in the city. But no sooner had they fired then they burst into superheated fragments, a victim of the "light" air support the UED admiral had promised.

"Heavy fighting elsewhere in the city," Lawson reported over Raider comms, "but Wrex and Jack left quite a trail of dead through this particular section. Once we hit the wall, though, it's nothing but the most elite of marines and ghosts with a rating of six and up. I'd recommend leaving the latter to Tosh and Jack if possible."

"Cheerful boast: I've got this."

The park's intense green seemed oddly distressing to Tychus after the orange, red, and gray of the rest of Augustgrad. _Feels like I'm defilin' something sacred._ Tychus had little time to worry about that however, as gunfire now echoed throughout the park. Raiders crouched behind trees and positioned themselves behind heavy metal shields, returning fire. Tychus and Jack separated with a chuckle, and Tychus tapped his omnitool, letting the tech armor envelop his suit. Then he winked twice causing a faint sensation of pressure to creep in at his neck. Tychus's heart sped up. He began to pant. His hands twitched. At that moment, Tychus was _alive_ , truly alive, for the first time since waking up.

 _This. This I understand!_ His heavy rifle cradled in his arms, Tychus aimed downrange and popped off a few rounds, staggering a Dominion marine who rounded an oak tree. Tychus took cover behind his own, hopefully even sturdier oak tree, and rounded the corner quickly to finish the man, his insides feeling like oiled lightning. _Faster. Faster! I like it hard and fast!_

Tychus roared and charged to the tree his dead man had previously occupied, kicking apart some stupid memorial bench on the way there. A round pushed against his shoulder only to be easily deflected by his kickass barriers, and his helmet alerted him to the exact location of his foe. His barrel wandered in that direction and silenced his belligerent foe.

"Goliath! Left side!" Tychus had no idea which left side the shouter meant, but found the Goliath easily enough. The twin chain guns tore a tree (and the Raider behind it) apart with a steady stream of blazing ammunition, but all this did was give Tychus time to remember and locate the pivotal location on the chassis. _Here! Burst here!_ Tychus fired, and the Goliath staggered under the onslaught, but did not fall. _Huh. Guess they corrected that design flaw. Stupid cryogenic stasis._ He leapt to the side and sprinted out of range, a hail of angry bullets following in his wake.

No sooner had he vacated his tree than his vision lit up with orange. He rounded on the Goliath in time to see it fall, its right leg cleanly severed from the chassis. Tychus turned around again in time to see Xeltan strolling towards away, railguns smoking, his body shaking in a way that suggested extremely smug satisfaction.

Tychus, antsy and looking for things to kill, followed the train of Raiders forward. More batarians now flew overhead, soldiers inside the craft firing massive harpoons at ground targets below while the drums and chanting still raged. On the ground, Tychus laughed, frothed at the mouth, and twice temporarily forgot how to reload. The bodies fell in neat little piles, their armor smoking and bloodied, and Tychus remembered how it had been before the war and scoffed.

 _Before getting' frozen I didn't have a psychic girlfriend. Or an elcor to shoot the shit with. This is … spectacular._

They almost seemed to run headlong into the wall together, feeling up against its smooth concrete surface with unsure fingers, palms pressed flat against the seemingly invincible material. They followed alongside the edges together, blue, massive, and yet somehow furtive. Trome, visor up, a smoking rifle held aloft in one hand, punched hard into a section and created an impressive crevice, even as his gauntlet deformed under the below. Declan set a charge and gave a thumbs up.

"Humket!" shouted a shuttle of batarians as they flew by, their weapons popping as they fired upon the unseen guardians atop the wall. "Humket!"

"That's getting the blood up," muttered Declan. "Keep skirting. Two more charges."

"Raynor," boomed a deep voice, seemingly all around them. "I know you're down there. I know you can hear me."

"Got no time for this," muttered Jim over the radio. "We get these walls open and blast whoever's still clingin' to his bullshit. Keep goin'."

"You've backed the wrong people, Raynor," uttered Mengsk, his voice still captivating even as it made Tychus feel faintly ill. "Look to either side of you, beyond your comrades. The Batarian Hegemony and the United Earth Directorate … those are your allies. Slavers and xenocidal fascists."

The cries of _hemkut_ exploded in volume and intensity all around them. Tychus, even through the stims, still winced as he glimpsed a Banshee, trailing fire and still being strafed by an incredibly ballsy batarian shuttle, crash into one of the few intact buildings in the distance. _End of the world out here._

"Second charge," muttered Declan, elbowing a hole in the wall before planting it. "Pay the monster no mind. He's just upset that someone's … what's the phrase? Something about dirty laundry?"

Tychus couldn't remember and didn't care. His heartrate was slowing and he was itching for more fight, and he knew that within these walls, that was where the fight was. _And hell, I hope Jim didn't wake me up just so I could kill people for him, but this is still what I live for! Feelin' like a damn badass!_

"Warfield seems to have been delayed, likely a product of our broadcast." DuGalle, his voice low and yet carrying trembling joy. "I'm sending in what armor we have left … Ahern – authorization to deploy all surviving ground forces for this last push. As a reminder to all troops: no looting. No raping. No violence on civilians or surrendering Dominion personnel. There are few people more admirable than those who are gracious in victory."

"Jericho deployed at the east wall," called out Stukov. The air filled with the sound of sizzling, and Tychus's eyes watered slightly, even through the visor. "I want no troops stationed at it. That is the intended avenue of escape for the Dominion. Making them die to the last man is wasteful for both sides."

"Third charge." The chanting and sizzling mixed to create a truly bizarre cacophony of war. Declan slipped the explosives in a small culvert and motioned for all to fall backward. "Once we're through, expect the worst. Trust me, it's batarian policy and it's never a bad idea."

They retreated together and faced the expanse of wall, guns trained on its seemingly invincible expanse. Jim flicked the trigger open and closed it, once, twice, three times.

"Alright. Done savorin' this moment. Keep those visors down." He pressed the button.

Tychus winced at the noise and the light. Orange leapt through the walls and made a compelling suggestion for the wall to fly apart, which it did. Chunks of steaming concrete flew through the air, making people call out and shift to make sure they did not end up under any of the larger sections. Jack, standing to Tychus's left, chuckled and applauded, whistling as the second and third explosives detonated and ruptured what was left, decimating a wall that Mengsk probably felt rather proud of. _And ain't that a sweet feeling?_

Distant booms rocked the earth, indicating breaches in other areas. Tychus looked up at the palace once more, noting how much closer and more vulnerable the banners looked. _Yeah, we're comin'._

Jim held up a hand and called for a stop. Tychus, tapping his feet and feeling his heart hammer, could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance at this, even as he stared through the clearing smoke and bore witness to the simply enormous amount of armor and infantry pointing their guns right back at him across the four miles or so, the siege tanks periodically firing into the city at unseen assailants. From behind the Raiders, a loud rumbling broke the sullen almost silence.

A tank in harsh white armor, the eagle and bolts of Earth emblazoned upon it and a strange gun atop it, lumbered into view. Its treads stopped rolling behind the Raiders, its gun repositioning, twitching like the nose of a dog. When it fired, Tychus's eyes watered again, even though nothing could be seen save for a slight shimmering in the air. In the distance, a siege tank's turret flew off of the chassis, and the Dominion soldiers shouted in surprise. Two more of these massive tanks rolled up, batarian soldiers in power armor leaping off the sides of them, and opened fire on the distant threat.

Tychus felt his heartrate quicken again as he witnessed the familiar sight and sound of siege tanks pulling their guns and pontoons in and preparing for a grizzly advance to get in range of the people chewing their asses up. The Dominion marines too, began to advance, their armored feet thudding against the foundations of the Imperial Palace. Jim slashed down his hand and charged, screaming. _The tanks. We need to kill the tanks._

The Earthborn tanks continued firing behind them, filling the air with ash as their targets melted and detonated under their onslaught. Batarian, Raider, and Directorate soldier alike followed Jim's lead, turning him from a battered if famous revolutionary to a warleader in the blink of an eye. Tychus screamed with the other Raiders, with the batarians as they cried "Humket!", with the Earthers as they bellowed their intent to strike down Mengsk for their definition of "humanity," however strange and twisted it might be.

Both sides fired at the same time, a rare and horrible instance of terran marines catching each other on mostly level ground and having a good line of sight. Tychus grimaced as three rounds sheared through his barriers in the space of as many seconds, trying to ignore the panic in favor of keeping his profile low, of returning the favor to his own targets.

Blood sprayed in the air as marines fulfilled their purpose and died for the cause they had chosen to believe in. A severed hand whipped past Tychus's vision, horrible and yet inconsequential. Batarians and terrans alike screamed in pain as they joined the casualty lists, collapsing on shattered kneecaps or outright severed legs. All the while, the advancing siege tanks continued to collapse behind the Dominion lines, the Earthers armor apparently too much for them. Tychus gasped as a round punched through his shoulder and his suit announced the application of emergency autocoagulators and bandages. He still did not let go of the trigger, squeezing it, letting the barrel settle, and squeezing it again.

The batarians advanced before the rest of them, charging forward with a cry before rapidly taking a knee and firing their curious repeating harpoon weapons, firing them expertly in sharp bursts and advancing again. Tychus paid them little mind at first but slowly, ever so slowly, followed in their wake, recognizing again a familiar pattern: that of marines beginning to break. _Looks like the ol' Emperor didn't want mostly resoc for his army. And for a big ol' shootout like this … that's what you want. Whoops._

Their siege tanks in pieces and batarian ships now closing in on all sides, the marines fled towards the direction of the now wrecked east wall, as Vice Admiral Stukov no doubt hoped they would. Tychus, still wincing at his wound, nevertheless joined the cheering and beat feet to the entrance.

"It's over," breathed Jim over the radio, his voice a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and _relief_ , joyous, blessed relief. "My God. It's … it's finally over."

The staccato of gunfire and the muffled applause of explosions could still be heard all over the city, but the air was theirs now, and the inside of the Imperial Palace's walls now crawled with the white, with the blue, with the black of the Raiders and their allies. Mengsk's voice, still booming with authority, became drowned out by their cheers, their screams, the booming "Humket!"

Tychus stared at the massive stone and steel door, emblazoned with the red symbol of the arm and whip, the emblem of the Confederacy's all too similar replacement. SCVs crawled back and forth before it, assembling some massive gun mounted on an equally massive chassis.

"Looks like a gigawatt laser," said Trome, his blue armor looking battered and scorched, part of the left pauldron missing. "It should have the entrance open in a few minutes. Mengsk isn't going to keep us out just by locking his front door."

"Gettysburg!" screamed out Jim, lifting his rifle into the air with one hand. "Gettysburg!"

Trome joined in first, followed quickly by Declan. "Gettysburg! Gettysburg!"

It was a wave of sound, a rising crescendo, a battle cry for a tragedy long past, one Tychus had not even been conscious for. Nevertheless, he could not resist the tidal wave of emotion that came with sweet victory and even sweeter vengeance, and he held his rifle over his head and joined in.

"Gettysburg! Gettysburg!"

"Humket!"

The Earthers, so aloof and elitist most of the time, likewise joined in the rapturous cries, lifting unfamiliar rifles or even simply their shields in the case of the medics, crying out for a city on a planet they had never seen and probably never would. The walls seemed to quake with the outpouring of emotion.

"Gettysburg! Gettysburg!"

Tychus grinned and leaned against the steaming wreck of a siege tank, wishing he had a cigar. _I'm sure Jim will bust a few out to celebrate._ Jack, small and seemingly out of place among the many power armored men and women of the Raiders, stared at the doors with a hungry expression, not joining in with the others. Tychus grunted and stepped forward, joining her in her pre-palace looting vigil.

"I know Stukov told us not to," said Tychus, sliding open his visor and grinning widely at Jack, "but I'm gonna find you something nice."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**


	32. The Last Argument

**Valerian**

With every fresh rumble, dust fell from the high ceiling, scattering across the previously immaculate floor and making the countless refugees shiver and moan. The throne room, previously devoid of anybody for extended periods of time, now stank of terrified humanity. All the while, Father sat the throne, watching the smoking door of his palace with his fingers steepled and brow furrowed, Duke on one side, Valerian at the other. His remaining forces, such as they were, hid behind pillars, checked their weapons, and readied themselves for the end. _Such as it is. Is this truly to be the Dominion's finale?_

"We had them," said Father bluntly, expression wooden, voice low and controlled. "We had them, and of all people, the batarians came in and saved them. Nova … I sent her as I promised, and they should have arrived long before now."

"Still wish you'd tell me just who you been in contact with," said Duke uncomfortably, fingering the butt of his pistol. "Listen … Arcturus … I don't think Warfield's gonna get here before them doors burn down. I don't think anybody's-" Duke stopped short as a great cry went up, as a large section of the door fell away in a smoking heap.

"I was promised assistance," muttered Father, voice shaking. "To save this Dominion … I sacrificed so much…" He stood, hands held together, suddenly looking old and somewhat stooped in Valerian's eyes. "Should have … shaved. Dressed down. Snuck out. But that is no way for an emperor to live or die." _And man grew proud …_ Father stepped forward, inching closer to the stairs and to the door. Valerian and Duke followed behind. Father took a great, sucking breath.

"No more," he said, straightening. "This situation can still be salvaged. All they have to do is listen to me, realize that I am too valuable to waste." His hands balled into fists and trembled. "General Duke, tell your men to stand down. Broadcast it to the city. I am authorizing a formal surrender on behalf of the Terran Dominion."

"All units, this is General Edmund Duke," said Duke immediately, his voice bouncing across the walls and through the city, through the helmets of countless living and dead. "Stand down. It's over. Stand down. The Emperor is ordered an official surrender. Lay down your weapons, it will save your life."

Valerian watched as the soldiers in the throne room turned to one another, some in confusion, others in relief, a few in anger. Nearly as one, they lowered their weapons to the ground. Emperor Arcturus Mengsk, first of his name, strode down the steps, cape billowing, flanked by his heir and his greatest general. Together, they stood before the door, Valerian shaking with anxiety, his stomach a mess of angry and voracious worms. Yet more molten steel fell from the door, sending a beam of brilliant light through. At long last, the entire frame began to sink and cave in.

"There ain't nothing to worry about, boy," said Duke, putting a heavy hand on Valerian's shoulder and peering through the smoke and into the daylight beyond. "Nothing to be afraid of." He removed his hand and folded his arms, watching the last line of protection be reduced to ruin. "It's … it's a beautiful day."

The sound of sizzling and popping stopped abruptly. Valerian tried to control his breathing, to put his faith in both his father and the inherent decency of humanity, even though in truth what little he knew of the Directorate and his leadership was all bad. The door pooled into little more than slag, swiftly cooling. Several silhouettes of power armored men and women strode through the brilliant light of the late dawn and showered the entrance with what appeared to be fire suppressant loaded into their wrists. The air filled with steam and smoke, and still they waited, motionless. _It's okay. People of our station … surely they do not simply execute people like us? What would Father do in this situation?_

Heavy boots pounded the cooling mess of the entrance. Soldiers in smaller white powered armor marched to the three of them, guns pointed at the surrendering guard behind them, at Duke and Father. No one seemed particularly concerned by Valerian.

"Mengsk," said one, voice distorted through the mask. Valerian could not help but notice the address lacked the appropriate title. The marine stepped forward and turned Father around roughly, searching him with armored yet dexterous hands. The process swiftly repeated for Duke and Valerian himself. Cuffs swiftly followed, and Valerian heeded the marines' orders not to struggle. No one said a word beyond this; the only sounds to be heard within the throne room were awkward and quiet sniffling, the shuffle of feet. The marines shoved Father forward.

"Out. The Admiral wishes to speak with you. Try something and we're authorized to execute."

"All I ever wanted was a dialogue with the United Earth-"

"Shut up!" The marine produced a pistol and aimed it at Father, specifically the back of his kneecap. "Walk. That's it."

Father sighed and began to trudge towards the exit, Duke and Valerian following closely behind. Some of the marines moved further into the throne room and began securing the weapons of the guards, while the others followed the captured procession out into the blazing red sun … and down the blood covered steps.

"Gettysburg!" screamed the horde arrayed before them, the sun glinting off their raised weapons, their voices bouncing off the side of the mighty palace. "Gettysburg! Gettysburg!"

The batarians shouted something as well, but Valerian could not make it out. He followed Father, trying not to tread on his cloak or slip on the still fresh blood, knowing that if he fell, no one would catch him. _And trying to break the fall with hands tied behind my back … is this it? Is this truly it?_

The ruins of Augustgrad stretched in every direction before him, the once glorious skyline now dark and broken, nothing more than a series of jagged former buildings belching smoke under a livid sun.

At the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by a concave of shouting Earthers, Raiders, and batarians, stood a man, stiff and austere. A military cap adorned his head, golden laurels stretching from the sides and towards the brim. Medals clung to his broad chest, on which hung a heavy black trench coat. He held his arms behind him and maintained a grim yet otherwise emotionless description. He held up a gloved hand as the three of them staggered towards him. Two marines gently parted Duke and Valerian from Father and forced them downwards. They knelt, heads bowed yet still looking up, as Arcturus Mengsk, a UED marine on either side of him, stood before Admiral Gerard DuGalle, leader of Earth's glorious forces.

Admiral DuGalle stared at Father without saying a word for several moments, hands now behind his back once more. His eyes glided over Father and settled briefly on Valerian before narrowing. To what Valerian believed to be Father's credit, he waited for the victorious admiral to speak.

"I have long wished to exchange words with you, Arcturus," said DuGalle, voice deep and melodious, an unfamiliar accent elongating the vowels and seeming to stretch the sentence. "You are to be commended, sir, for stalling our offensive here for so long. Your nuclear ploy, while it filled me with rage in the moment, was nevertheless an impressive if primitive and desperate display of resolve on your part, and your ground defenses inside the city … well. Even the protoss would have suffered greatly. And for that, I commend you."

"And I commend you, sir," replied Father, sounding breathless, "for bringing an empire to its knees in a matter of months. It is no easy thing, and I speak from experience."

"Yes." DuGalle's face hardened. "That you do."

"So," said Father, his tone hard, "what is it to be?"

"As an officer and a gentleman, I am compelled to take you, your son, and your high officers prisoner." DuGalle wiped his mouth with a gloved hand, clearing his throat. "However, my orders take precedence. And speaking as a father of two children, I cannot fathom how the universe could possibly be a worse place if you were taken out of it."

"You wouldn't dare," spat Father, voice taking on a desperate edge. "No – listen! There are far worse things in these stars, I've seen them! Valerian and I, we could be of use to you!"

The marines looked to DuGalle, who seemed to ponder these words for a moment, his hands resting at his sides. Without warning, the left hand lashed out, striking father across the face with a meaty thud. The crowd roared while Valerian cried out in fear and concern. Father fell to the ground, barely catching himself with his arms, spraying spit on to the ash covered ground.

"Gag them!" commanded DuGalle, and someone pulled Valerian's head back, fastening a filthy cloth around his mouth, making the bile rise in his throat. To his right, Duke cursed and spat, his voice muffled but not silenced as the gag descended over him. When Valerian looked to him, he saw only defiance in the general's eyes, only blazing anger. DuGalle turned to the crowd behind him.

"Warfield is on his way, and Citizen Mengsk has proven himself to possess uncanny manipulative ability," he said, turning in place to look over his assorted allies and troops. "And so I proclaim: we will have justice. Here. Now. Activate the cameras." Several men and women clad in white stepped forward, small floating devices trailing behind them. All focused on the admiral while Valerian could only watch, breathing ragged, heart a panicked jackhammer.

"At long last, there will be justice for the victims of Tarsonis, of all the men and women who died because of Arcturus Mengsk's selfishness." DuGalle's voice became quiet and intense, the back of his head wrinkling slightly as he spoke, the cap shifting. _Have a heart attack or something. You look old. Please! Someone stop this!_

"At long last, the universe will be set right." DuGalle turned, marched to Father while the cameras and reporters shifted, trying to frame the shot as two men facing one another, one powerful and the other … _they came all this way for this?_

"Arcturus Mengsk, so-called "Emperor of Humanity," leader of the Terran Dominion," boomed DuGalle, "you are charged with terrorism, committing genocide, covering up a genocide, murder of prisoners, turning on political allies, and the deliberate targeting and murder of civilians. In light of recent evidence found courtesy of Captain Anderson and Mr. Raynor, you are sentenced to die."

The crowd roared, the name of a long dead city on their lips once more.

"Gettysburg! Gettysburg!"

Valerian felt a light squeeze at his shoulder, oddly comforting. He looked up. A medic loomed over him, the armor badly burned and torn. He could not see the person's face. When Valerian's head swung back towards the action, a familiar powered armored figure was striding towards where his father knelt. His father, face gagged and bloody, nevertheless issued a muffled scream at the sight of the man, who carried a revolver in his right hand. Despite the screaming of the crowd, Jim Raynor still held a hand up for silence and kept his revolve pointed to the ground. He turned to DuGalle, his dirty and unshaven face quickly glancing towards the cameras. _So. There's the great hero. In league with the worst human beings to ever grace this universe … the one who broke through these walls alongside the slaving batarians._

"There should be a trial," he said clearly. The crowd went dead silent while DuGalle brought a hand to his chin, staring intently at Raynor. "Admiral? We have the evidence, but there should still-"

"We have the evidence, but we are also quite cognizant of Mengsk's reputation as a manipulator, Mr. Raynor," said DuGalle, face drawn. He maintained his stiff composure.

"Admiral," said another man, darker skinned, a red beret slightly askew on his head. He stepped forward from the front of the crowd adjusting it, a great smile on his face. "Mengsk does not speak without some truth – there are worse things in these stars and he has proven himself willing to add his strength to those who fight against such horrors. I believe-"

"Lieutenant Duran, if I cared what you believed, I would not be admiral. Cease this insubordination immediately." Duran, whoever he was, opened his mouth, shut it, smiled and bowed. He left without a further sound. Raynor, however, did not move. He looked to DuGalle and back to Mengsk, then to Valerian. His face, still visible through the visor … it shook. _So … Father was right about his conscience being an obstruction. He never could fully realize how such a thing could be utilized as a strength, rather than exploited as a weakness …_ Valerian coughed, spit spilling from his lips and against the gag. _Look where it got you, Father. Who kneels in the dust, their head inches away from a gun?_

Slowly, so slowly, Jim Raynor raised his gun and pointed it squarely at Father's forehead. Valerian's heart stilled, even as his insides writhed and the back of his neck became a blaze of itchy pain. _No … don't. Not in front of me, not in front of the whole galaxy, not at all. It's not worth it!_

The seconds dragged on, and Jim's arm seemed to slump. DuGalle watched, at first impassive, then slowly growing impatient. His face finally contorted and he stepped towards the rebel leader.

"Surely you did not travel so far, suffer through so much, and kill so many people just to lose your nerve now, Mr. Raynor! I certainly did not. Enough moralizing. Shoot him!"

The arm stiffened again, but still Raynor did not shoot. Valerian's breathing came in ragged gasps now, and Duke had gone fully quiet. The crowd looked on. Another terran, hulking in blue armor, his face a mess of scars, shifted and took a step forward.

"Jimmy?" he said, his voice a plaintive growl. "Partner? Perhaps we should-"

Raynor's hand jumped, the revolver popping at a volume that seemed so disproportionately quiet, considering what it had just done. A surge of red punched through the back of Father's skull, showering the already saturated earth with yet more bloody rain. Emperor Arcturus Mengsk of the Terran Dominion, first of his name, former leader of the Sons of Korhal and father of Valerian Mengsk, jerked backwards and fell onto his own bent legs, his face left staring into the Korhal sky. All sound faded save Valerian's own heartbeat, even as the crowd screamed in joy, in fear, in simple surprise, who cared?

 _Dead …_ His father had seen so many other people dead in the course of the years, it seemed only fitting that he would be executed in front of a crowd. _No …_ All of the planning, the carefully placed words, the pomp and the rhetoric, the pages of the history books that Arcturus Mengsk had burned himself on to, it all came snapping forward to this moment, when he collapsed on the dusty ground, finally shot in the head by his nemesis Jim Raynor while his son watched not ten feet away. _Everything … gone._

Had he loved his father? Valerian had sometimes pondered that question, in the past. He had loved his mother, certainly, tending to her every need as the cancer slowly rotted her body. He had wept openly at her funeral. _I know what love is._ But Mengsk the Elder? Arcturus? _Father?_

Something sharp and raw tugged at his inside as the inbred _certainty_ that, somehow, his father was immortal or, at the very least, always on the winning side, collided with the harsh reality that was the corpse of his father, twitching as a mix of his blood and brains pooled on the ground beneath him. Valerian's tears rolled freely down his cheeks and into the gag, putrefying the wretched cloth even further. He stared up at Jim Raynor, his heart _burning_ in his chest as, through the grief, the rage threatened to tear itself free.

 _I hope the Directorate rips your heart out you bastard! You know what they're capable of!_

"The emperor is dead!" called out DuGalle, raising a fist into the sky.

"So it goes," muttered the medic holding him steady, a woman. She sounded sad. When she released her grip, Valerian let himself collapse, moaning softly, shaking and sobbing. _Let them see my grief … let the cameras all see what happens when you kill a father in front of his son!_ That vengeful and political side of him was only the distant, rational part of his brain however. The rest of him could only fixate on that image of his father, lifeless at Raynor's feet.

"General Duke," said DuGalle, his voice carrying across the crowds without difficulty, quieting them within moments, "you once served the Confederacy, but then defected to Mengsk in exchange for the man's respect and your own continued existence. Given the tumultuous nature of the galaxy, I am now extending to you the same offer. Tear free his gag now. The man holding his leash is dead, and I would hear what this man would say." Valerian looked up, eyes stinging. A metal hand ripped Duke's gag free, making him cough and lower his head momentarily.

"Well?" asked DuGalle as the general coughed and sputtered. "Men of your experience and caliber are hard to come by, General, as I am sure you understand. Despite our brief history consisting only of us being enemies, I would nevertheless prefer to keep this sector as intact as can be. Can I be assured of your loyalty and cooperation?"

Duke sputtering and choking, finally quieted. Slowly, he looked up into DuGalle's face … and spat a gob of liquid. The admiral recoiled as the spit landed on his shined boots, and Valerian felt laughter, mad, hysterical laughter, rise in the back of his throat, come screaming through his mouth.

"You fucking bastards!" Duke screamed, even as marines surrounded him, even as an armored fist glanced him across the face. "Fascist, pretentious, arrogant, scum sucking, genocidal, xenocidal fucks!" He struggled even as strong hands held him by the shoulders, even as others shouted him down in turn. DuGalle, red-faced and yet still stiff, still mostly composed, pointed to one of the statues of Valerian's father, its hands outstretched.

"Hang him."

"What? You ain't got the balls to just shoot me?" Duke struggled as he was pulled to his feet, one of his arms almost slipping free in the process. He stared DuGalle at the face and spat again, silencing his own tirade briefly before continuing.

"You listen to me, everyone watchin' – I ain't backin' down! None of you should, neither!" His wild gaze tore to Valerian briefly, and Valerian witnessed just the faintest instant of sorrow, of panic in the general's face, ripping what was left of his heart into pieces. He could not look yet he could not look away. A rope was produced from somewhere, as ropes always were in times like these, and fitted around the outstretched right arm of his father, the man who had made Duke what he was. They lifted Duke up, up, wrapping the noose around his neck as if it were another medal of honor. Duke did not slow.

"Death to the UED!" he screamed, his voice a ragged shriek. "Death to the Ungodly Eaters of D-"

The marines dropped him, and Duke fell with all the finality of an atomic bomb. His final words died with a choked gasp, and he jerked and twitched in place, his legs a flurry of motion while his neck twisted at a horrible angle. Valerian stared into Duke's eyes, hoping he knew that he was looking, that he loved him, that he was not truly alone and hated in his final moments. In less than a minute, a thin whistle escaped Duke's purple lips. His limp corpse swayed in place, held up by the man who had proved both his making and his end. _And so dies General Edmund Duke of the Terran Dominion. Loyal to my father, to me, even till the end._

"With any luck, General Warfield will prove more … professional." Admiral DuGalle wiped his face and turned away from the grisly spectacle, apparently unmoved in any fashion. He strode to Valerian and towered over him, his mouth a grim line. Valerian peeled his gaze away and looked down, down at his boots, at the fading stain Duke had left behind.

"I will not ask you to execute this one, Mr. Raynor, but it must still be done, and it must still be done in an undeniable fashion." Valerian's breath caught in his throat. _All that … the speeches. Surviving the dig, losing Starke … surviving Liara. It all just ends at this. At least it should be quick._ He tried to look up at DuGalle and defy him, somehow, to be brave, but the sobs would not stop, the tears refused to ebb. And DuGalle, looking down at him … DuGalle's own lip wobbled, and he looked away. When he spoke next, his voice shook.

"General Petrovsky-"

"Absolutely not!" A man in an unfamiliar uniform of white, black, and gold slashed his hand through the air. "The perpetrators of the Confederacy's downfall are _dead_ , Admiral. Tarsonis is avenged. Cerberus already regrets the deaths of countless innocents in the effort to bring Mengsk down, and will not suffer one more!" The crowd began to mutter angrily, looking to one another. DuGalle looked to everyone else in the crowd.

"Admiral Dekeer-"

"The Hegemony has done enough dirty work on behalf of humanity," said a batarian in gleaming black and red armor, his outward eyes fixed on Valerian while the other two stared at DuGalle. "What's this one done? Nothing. Just what he was expected to. I watched as the last Hegemon choked to death on the steps of his palace. When it was done, we made sure his sons were taken care of. The vengeance was done."

"This is not vengeance, this is trying to curtail future rebellion." DuGalle sounded desperate now, and Valerian found the strength to stare at him with accusing eyes. _He does not want to murder me. Whatever he was, he knows it is somehow wrong._ When their gaze met, DuGalle's eyes were clearly filled with naked panic. _You don't think of yourself as a monster. You think you can still go home from this …_ Valerian wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. The Admiral thumbed the butt of the pistol on his holster.

"Must I set the example?" he asked, his words a subtle plea, as unlikely to be answered as Valerian's own muffled shrieks. The back of Valerian's neck burned, and DuGalle palmed his face, sliding his hands across them. Something distant hummed, an electric current surging through the air.

"It has to be done," muttered DuGalle, stepping back and staring into the heavens. "Helena, Camille, Madeleine … Alexei … please think no less of me for doing this." The humming grew louder, and the ground shook. Valerian's gaze was fixed on DuGalle, but it was clear something was happening on the horizon. DuGalle's brow furrowed and he turned. People were pressing their ears to their helmets, listening intently. All of a sudden, people shouted, screamed, the undercurrent of uncertainty changing to naked horror.

"Oh hell," said Jim Raynor, staring at the massive _thing_ descending upon the city with incredible speed, its carapace glistening in the blood red sun. "Not this again."

"ZERG!"

The leviathan screamed with terrifying volume, and angular projectiles shot from its smooth underbelly, laying into the city, ruining whatever glimmers of beauty might have remained. One bore directly for the palace.

"Incoming!"

Valerian flung himself to the side, the spit rolling down the side of his face, thrashing his elbows in a frantic effort to distance himself from everything, from his father, from Duke, from DuGalle, from Liara…

The pellet or zerg drop pod or _whatever_ it was struck the center of the crowd with bonecrunching force, followed shortly enough by several more. For the first time in history, the unthinkable occurred. _Zerg on Augustgrad. Liara…_

She unfolded from the center of the blast crater, her appendages spreading like the wings of a fallen angel, heedless of the weapons that laid into her. With a twitch she sent countless marines flying, some trailing blue, others nothing at all. She twisted in place, her hands glowing with furious energy while her wings snapped back and forth, firing projectiles at any who dared cross her path. Valerian, gagged and still bound, tried to stand by bringing himself to his knees, and only fell once again. A hydralisk slid past him, trailing a thick mucus, its flaps open.

Valerian tried to rise again, distracted only momentarily by the shock nets being shot at the zerg by the batarians, at the scenes of carnage all around him. He could barely make out Jim Raynor yelling, see soldiers in blue armor firing indiscriminately into the roiling masses of zerg … and rachni. _Shit. I did this!_

A shadow fell over Valerian and he twisted his head, barely catching the medic towering over him, her face brown and somehow tired. He twisted and scooted himself forward, only for the medic to catch him by the wrists … and remove the bonds.

"I don't know if there's anyone who can get you out," she said as Valerian pulled his gag free, gasping for air, for life. "Just run. Run!"

Valerian nodded and stood unsteadily. He had any number of gaps in the walls to choose from when it came to an exit. He picked the closest and prepared to sprint, stopping only to thank the medic … who had already gone. _I'll never know her name._

Valerian ran, ran as fast as legs that had suffered so much in such a short span of time could. Man and zerg alike fought and died around him, and the marines seemed to be trying to dogpile Liara to absolutely no effect. She was a whirlwind of aquamarine death, a blur of biotics, poisoned spines, and telekinetic shockwaves. The leviathan still hung overhead, the air strangely distorting in its presence, all manner of projectiles somehow deflected without it moving an inch. The strange transport sacs fell from its belly like hot sweat, dripping its filth on to Valerian's beautiful city that had already weathered so much. _My people … my people._

Something hot and heavy slammed into Valerian's back, making him scream and collapse, rolling across the dirt with an incredible pain driving into his back. His legs pressing against the ground, he pushed himself back, trying so, so very hard to survive, to escape it all and plot vengeance, to revitalize the Dominion. _Who … what?_

Admiral DuGalle, had lost, uniform disheveled, advanced on Valerian with a smoking gun, face set even as the tears of rage rolled down his own cheeks. He fired again, missing barely and showering Valerian with a hot spray of concrete as the round embedded itself into the earth.

"For Earth!" he cried, somehow pathetic in his attire, weeping openly at what he had to do in pursuit of his duty. "For…" He looked down. Something jutted from his chest, pressing his body forward. Then, without warning, a massive tendril shot through it, barbed and luminous. Admiral Gerard DuGalle looked down at the killing wound with a mixture of horror, fascination, and blatant disbelief, a puddle of blood creeping down his sternum and on to the hot concrete.

"Helena," he choked, his eyes rolling back in his head. The rachni discarded his corpse with a chirp, turning on Valerian with massive and alien eyes. Valerian, hands pressing against his own wound on his back, could only wait as the rachni strode forward.

 _What is it you are afraid of? I am here to save you._ Liara's voice, both soothing and ominous. The rachni slipped its tendrils under Valerian and lifted him with strange ease, balancing him with little difficulty. Valerian still cried out in fear and pain as his vital fluids leaked all over the poor creature. _Save him._

The rachni hummed to itself and advanced, a brother joining it and lending its strength. The zerg fell from the sky in greater and greater numbers, rachni and zerg alike fighting side by side in a frenzy. Dominion and UED marine alike now fought side by side, shouting instructions to one another, asking frantically just what the hell the _thing_ in front of the palace was, and how was it still standing?

"Hah…" Valerian coughed, his body throbbing with pain and exertion. The zerg slowly maneuvered him under the leviathan, its tremendous body gradually replacing the sky. Then, all of a sudden, the zerg and rachni cried out, a horrible scream.

" **This situation is unacceptable."** A female voice, alien, deafening, and somehow stirring a primal reaction in Valerian, making him gag and then vomit, turning his head and letting it rain down on to the rachni, feeling bizarrely sorry. When he looked up next, something else now contended with the leviathan.

A ship, alien and enormous, resembling nothing so much as a massive chunk of honeycomb given an engine, descended from the bloody heavens, firing a brilliant beam of yellow light at the leviathan, which glowed blue and stopped it short. Buzzing filled the air.

" **Establishing commensalist link."** Figures flew from the ship, huge and winged. One glowed with the fury of the sun and spoke with the terrible voice, and Valerian could see its gaze even so distant from it on the ground. **"Earth samples required. Exterminate zerg presence and acquire samples."** The figure descended and landed with a heavy crash before Valerian and the rachni, which cowered and trembled before her.

" **We are Majesty,"** she announced unhelpfully, before turning to a fellow creature that landed next to her. Both stood nine feet tall, clad in some kind of carapace power armor. **"Presence of Overmind substitute detected. You are needed."**

" **Assuming direct control."** The other creature shook and burned, ceased by some hidden force. Valerian tried to remain steady as the rachni fell backwards before stopping, their screams supplanted by happy chirrups. Something stirred behind Valerian.

"You're with the Reapers, aren't you?" Liara stepped past Valerian, her carapace covered in dents and blood. The city shook and screamed, and buzzing filled the air. Valerian gasped as he felt a pinching at his wound, and blue filled his vision. Something, a large bug of some kind, landed on his cheek, but could not seem to sting him. _Barriers … she gave me a barrier._ The other creature finished convulsing, fixing its livid gaze on Liara.

" **We are Harbinger,"** declared the creature, which turned to its fellow. **"Begin the merge."**

The two joined hands, and the energy seemed to surge between them, melting them together like wax, pulling them into a vortex of bright yellow energy. Liara snapped her wings out and fired at the whirling mass of light, but it remained unaffected. Her biotics bounced off harmlessly.

"Archon," gasped Valerian, making Liara turn. "It's an archon … run."

An enormous figure emerged from the glowing mass, its hands clawed and outstretched towards Liara, its face carved and burning stone.

" **Power … sufficient."**

Liara dove to the side as the being unleashed a massive wave of energy in her direction, shearing the building behind her in half. Valerian, for his part, could only watch in a desperate mixture of confusion and fear as Liara retaliated with her own biotics, which bounced harmlessly against the creature.

" **Abomination,"** the creature intoned, its voice a growl with both male and female properties, a cacophonous mix of Majesty and Harbinger, whatever they were. **"Mistake."**

Liara slashed her hand down, only for nothing to happen. Valerian's own brow furrowed, and then he gasped. The creature disappeared beneath a heavy purple tendril, the leviathan having … stepped on it. It retreated the smoking tendril moments afterward with a muffled howl, and Valerian could not help but laugh, laugh at it all. _Everyone … why are we fighting? What's the point? Zerg, Reapers, these things … galaxy wants to eat us. And we're still shooting at each other._ Something lifted him up, the rachni leaving him behind to bound back into battle. The smoke and screams of Augustgrad faded and Valerian … Valerian began to fade, too.

 _They killed my father…_

This was the thought he woke to, that horrible memory. Waking in the horrid shuttle inside the leviathan did not help. Waking before Abathur, even less so.

"Heavy investment," Abathur said bluntly. "Repay queen. Suffer, otherwise."

"Liara chose to expose herself to the galaxy," said Valerian, a small trail of blood falling down his lip. "I was … happy to die."

"Not Queen of Ruins," replied Abathur, impatient. "Rachni queen. Insisted on repayment of mercy. Stressed political advantage to Protectorate and other nations. Zerg must establish as nation as well, not swarm." Abathur shuddered. "Take to ... bridge. Liara back shortly." _Unless she dies._ Valerian dared not say it aloud, and indeed felt awful for even thinking it. _Too many dead, today._

Abathur carried Valerian atop his back through a series of tunnels of his own making, a far swifter means to reach Liara's command center. By the time they did arrive, the Queen of Ruins waited with a pair of mangled wings, her expression a mix of anger and naked fear.

"This better be worth it," she snapped at the rachni queen, who stared back at her from across the room. She turned to Valerian, and her gaze softened. "I am so sorry."

"What…" Valerian coughed, no longer able to speak. His thoughts were still read easily enough.

"Reapers hate zerg," Liara said bluntly. "Didn't think they would be this willing to take open action, but I forgot just how Sovereign felt about them, way back when. It's all out in the open, now. The galaxy has footage of zerg, Reapers…" she paused. "…rachni."

The queen hummed melodiously, apparently at peace with her decision. The leviathan began to rise.

"Queen." Liara turned to look at Abathur. "Terran vessels converging on leviathan. Unfamiliar make. Radio chatter."

"Entity 198," snapped an unfamiliar voice, doubtless one of the many UED admirals that the galaxy now found itself besieged by. "Zerg. You invaded the wrong planet, _suka_. Ahab Protocol, now!"

The leviathan screamed and shuddered, and Liara cried out with it.

"It burns!" she screamed, clutching her head.

"Polonium. Cobalt." Abathur rubbed his hands, sucked in some of his constant drool. "No healing such wounds. Five strikes, all along side. Fatal wounding. Sickening leviathan." He turned to Valerian. "Umoja. Accepting. Need allies. Become ambassador."

Valerian coughed. _No._

The rachni chimed from the corner, drawing close to Valerian, placing its head beneath his hand and staring up at him, calm yet plaintive. _Please?_

"Warp," muttered Liara. "Warfield's here. Let the terrans handle the Reapers. She's … she's dying. We have to go! Valerian!"

"Don't you … don't you touch Umoja." Valerian's vision swam. The blood fell in a trickle from his back. "Don't you dare…"

"Valerian!"

Valerian lay his head back against the floor, letting his hands fall free. _DuGalle, dead. UED … beset by the Reapers. Everything coming apart. Father … Duke … Umoja…_

Liara brought her face close to his, eyes burning.

"Down there, that's death," she snapped, pointing outside the leviathan, which rumbled again. Liara covered her mouth, a muffled gasp escaping it. She trembled … _in fear?_ "The UED, the Reapers? They're both coming for Umoja, one way or another. You know this. I … I want to help. To finally step out of the shadows and redeem myself. Redeem the rachni. Redeem the zerg."

"Vengeance," whispered Valerian, thinking of Raynor, who he knew was a master at surviving the zerg. _Scurrying around down there._

"Vengeance," hissed Liara. "Impossible unless we help each other. We go to Umoja, we can save your life. We can save the galaxy. We can avenge your father."

Valerian's head turned to stare Liara in the face. _You could have saved him …_ he opened his mouth to ask, and stopped. _I am emperor of the Dominion. I have a duty … and my grandfather is still on Umoja._

Valerian nodded once, twice, three times. _My last decision … resurrected two races. I need to make sure that it was the right one._

"This is General Warfield," said a familiar voice, distorted and somehow bestial. "I saw the footage. You bastards have a lot to answer for … but I'm not abandoning anyone to these things. Boys, get down there and help anyone you see with two legs, Dominion or not." _Follow his example._

"Leviathan dying, terran fleet presence escalating," reported Abathur, voice dull and somehow resigned. "Queen of Ruins?"

"Umoja," she said firmly, looking to Valerian and setting her mouth in a grim smile.

Valerian turned his head and stared out the leviathan, into the bright red planet just barely visible. Lights shone from the countless fighting ships, another of the massive honeycomb vessels descending on the planet. _Galaxy's gone mad … rescued by zerg._

"I will return." His voice was surprisingly loud, reassuringly so, even. He reached out for his legacy, even as it shrank away into a thousand pinpoints of light.

* * *

 **End of Act 1.**

 **Next Chapter: Tali'zorah**

 **A/N: _Breathe._**


	33. Aftershock

**Tali'Zorah**

Admiral Daro'Xen paced the airy waiting room constantly, circling the perimeter with her head down, staring at her omnitool and occasionally muttering to herself. Tali watched her with muted anxiety, irritated at her constant motion, yet also aware of her inability to stop it. _She just has this constant push to her, a sort of ceaseless drive. If I stopped her to talk, her feet would tap, or her hands would twitch at her sides, or her head would bounce, or…_

It didn't bear thinking about. Admiral Xen would do as she had always done, in all things, regardless of what anyone said about her. Tali leaned over and bent over her own omnitool, linking the audio and visuals to her suit and watching the footage of Korhal with bile rising in her throat.

 _They executed him on camera …_ Tali focused on the image of the fallen emperor, twitching in the dust. _They showed this to the entire galaxy …even with Tarsonis, this … this is…_

There weren't really words. Tali's chest burned with all manner of emotions: confusion at what had happened, what was happening, at the footage of protoss loping about Eden Prime with the abductors at their side. Anger. Anger at Mengsk for Tarsonis, at the Directorate for their purges and the means by which they acquired that footage, at … at the protoss, for their continual inability to stop any of this, never mind whether they were responsible. Fear. Raw, choking fear at what the quarian people were about to get themselves into, at her complicity in making all of this happen.

Admiral Xen made an unhappy noise, said something that might have been a question, and rounded on Tali suddenly, her fingers tapping against her thigh. Tali muted the audio and stared up at her, awaiting the inevitable repeat of the unheard question.

"I asked if you think Tarsonis will change anything regarding the political arrangement." Xen glanced at the unopened door at the front of the room, the six pointed black and white star of the Umojan Protectorate emblazoned upon it. "Their culpability is unclear, but they will most certainly want to distance themselves from any accusations. That might mean an alliance with the Directorate."

"I'm not the one to ask." Tali turned off the video and looked up at Xen, her mouth feeling dry, the sweat accumulating beneath the suit. "I'm sure Ailin will be kind enough to let us know exactly what he thinks soon enough."

"You've met the man, have you not?" Xen's foot rapped against the floor, a steady hammering to match Tali's heart. "I am aware that asking him would be the simplest solution, but he is obviously busy. You know him. I do not. Answer the question."

Tali reflected on the three dinners she had attended at which Ailin Pasteur had likewise been present. _I spoke to him … twice? I have little to work with. The first time I had barely arrived to Umoja … still had trouble telling the terrans apart at that point._

"It's up to the Umojan Ruling Council," said Tali, unable to truly remember anything truly distinguishing about the man. "Jergenson's the minister, but even he couldn't tell the Protectorate what to do unilaterally."

Xen made an irritated noise. "We find ourselves chained to the only terrans in the galaxy who still cling to democratic ideals in the face of the galaxy's naked horrors. Well. I cannot fault them too heavily for that." She stared at the door momentarily, foot still tapping. "I do wish they would hurry up. I am guessing the asari are also contributing to the slowdown."

Tali could only shake her head helplessly and try to find any live feed from Korhal, all of which had gone mysteriously dark after Duke's hanging. _And, also worrying … no feed from the Citadel. It's like there's an enormous blackout in Council space. I think something's gone wrong._ _But what isn't going wrong?_

"I imagine we'll be hearing from the protoss soon enough." Xen said it with a casual certainty, apparently neutral on the topic. "They will visit the Directorate first, I think, to teach them that it is naughty to tell lies. Past that … who can guess?" Xen sniffed. "At any rate, the galaxy as a whole should be kicked into performing fewer stupid actions, lest their elders look at them askance, eyes blazing with fury." Her head snapped to the side briefly. "Check your omnitool. Live feed from Korhal … oh dear, that is quite the thumbnail."

Tali touched her omnitool, making it spit out a host of video feeds and live updates from the cities. At the forefront of every single one of them-

"No…"

Abductors, standing eight feet high in their carapace power armor, squaring off against zerg organisms, a leviathan hanging in the orange Korhal sky. After briefly scanning the list of videos, Tali selected the UEN feed, figuring it would at the very least have the best view.

"…have united under the threat of these two alien species." The camera bounced and focused on power armored terrans and batarians alike trading fire with far off brown figures. A beam of yellow through one of the already badly cracked pillars two terrans hid behind and ripped through one, prompting the camera to jerk away as the red came spurting out. The audio crackled with far off gunfire, and a deep voice intoned something loudly in the distance.

"We are still attempting to determine the nature and origin of these creatures," said the person behind the camera, voice crackling through the feed. She directed her camera up, past the burnt ruins of the buildings and into the distance. A very familiar ship greeted them all. "They arrived shortly after the zerg, and remained after the zerg fled. There are at least eight more of these ships in orbit engaging the remnants of all present fleets. The power of the invaders is disproportionate to their numbers…"

 _Finally. A relatively unbiased UED report._ Tali immediately felt horrible for that thought, but nevertheless brushed it off in favor of searching for additional footage from earlier. _Zerg arriving … looks like after Duke died, hit the area around the palace and scattered. Then the abductors come after … at least I don't see any protoss._

That was small comfort to Tali, however, once the phrase "Rachni resurgence" began cropping up. Sure enough, there was footage aplenty of them as well.

 _This is hell. Every single major threat to the galaxy is out to play … and everyone's been spending all of this time fighting each other, or getting ready to fight each other!_

"Rachni, zerg, and our favorite mysterious aliens." Xen sounded both unconcerned and unamused. "Well. Assuming we are still in the protoss's good graces by the end of this, I would say we made no mistake in coming here, Tali."

The door opened without warning, the man stumbling through looking tired and gray. His thinning hair and weak chin did little to inspire confidence in Tali, his forced smile and sweat stained attire even less so. _But … he's the man who will bring us our alliance._

"Keeping up to date?" The question barely sounded like a question. Ailin Pasteur waved them both through. "Come in – it is imperative that we move quickly. Things … are even less stable than they seem. Please." He moved to the side of the door and waved them on through. Xen naturally wasted little time, and Tali only paused to stretch her arms and hear them crack. _Sitting for too long._

The conference room beyond felt as open as the courtyards far below the building, the ceiling stretching higher than Tali personally felt was practical. It nevertheless felt pleasant not to feel boxed in. _I know I've been living on Shakuras too long … I actually notice myself enjoying not being in a cramped space._ While banners decorated the walls, each belonging to a different Umojan colony, the long table that took up the majority of the room possessed no decorations, only the telltale lights of QECs. Only one currently lit up, revealing a very tall and very impatient looking asari.

"Are you as sick as I am, waiting for anyone to do anything about what's going on?" High Matriarch Aethyta directed the question at both Xen and Tali herself, eyes scanning over both of them. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's good to think about what you're doing, especially in a democracy, but by Athame's jiggling tits these Umojans like to argue."

Ailin coughed and turned his head, cheeks reddening. "Well, we're all done waiting. All that remains is the Migrant Fleet's final confirmation. We're going ahead with the plan. Are you ready? Are you still willing?"

Tali looked to Xen, the admiral the Board had entrusted with actually signing the necessary documents. She waved a hand airily.

"I suppose. I would, however, like an update on events outside the Koprulu Sector."

High Matriarch Aethyta grunted. "The Citadel has gone dark. People are screaming that the Salarian Union attacked the Hierarchy, while others are saying the turians actually made the first move. At any rate, the relays are alive with activity and someone's moving for Illium." Aethyta offered a very tense and angry smile. "So … you might understand why I would like these new avenues of movement opened up. Because if the turians have indeed decided to make the first move and follow through – which to be honest, I would be impressed by – it would probably be a good idea to have numbers on our side." She shrugged. "Korhal's a mess; I saw the feed and I know it's a problem, but at least we won't have to worry about Earth crawling up our backsides if this really is the opening moves of Operation: Die For the Cause."

Xen exchanged quick look with Tali, who nodded. _The civilian fleet is safe on Shakuras and we need to establish ourselves in the galaxy as something other than "the idiots who almost ruined everything." We can do this…_

"Admiral Koris," said Xen clearly, hand pressed to her head, trying to make sure the signal went through as clearly as possible. "It's time to break a major law. High Matriarch – I will see you soon, I hope?"

"That was the plan." The asari winked out, and Tali patched into Koris's channel.

"Relay 122 is reading us and our frigate is locked in!" Koris actually sounded somewhat enthusiastic, a far cry from being the "suit wetter" her father and Han'Gerrel accused him of being. "Everything is green … path selected. Ship is through and relay is active."

 _Who needs Waygates? May our ancestors bless the brave pilots who volunteered to be the first ones through._

"Stand by," said Zaal'Koris, his voice shaking only slightly. "Stand by. Stand by. We're receiving something. It's…" Static cut through his voice momentarily. Xen's foot rapped mercilessly against the tiled floor while Ailin looked on, the sweat running down his red face.

"Asari vessels. Four of them, accompanying the _Tor'fes._ Time to get some papers signed."

"Landing pad," said Ailin, pointing to the door and shuffling in that direction. "Quickly now."

They followed Ailin together out through the waiting room, past the anxious Umojan marines in their hulking armor, through the small hordes of politicians and secretaries who stopped and stared at the two quarians and the Ruling Council representative as they charged through. Through the tiled halls, shouts of "asari" could be heard. People began piling to the windows while the three of them emerged blinking into the bright sunlight, their vision occupied by the clean cityscape of Umoja.

"While I am hardly one to ruin what could be a triumphant moment, I cannot help but feel it would somehow be comically appropriate for another, even worse race to pop through that relay soon afterwards." Tali buried her head in her hands as Xen continued on, unabashed. "After all, is this not yet another kneejerk reaction to regional galactic conflicts? Perhaps a fleet of the abductor ships now looks on from the other side, thinking, "They cannot possibly be that stupid…""

"Such suppositions have little use. What matters is the immediate need." Ailin Pasteur wiped a sleeve across his drenched forward, his entire frame wobbling slightly, as if standing was somehow exerting him. "Although I must admit, this line of thinking has done little to historically improve the galaxy in the past. Nevertheless…" His words trailed off as he looked up, blinking. A hum filled the air, and a small dot appeared far above them. _Let's get this signed, fast._

The shuttle's engines sputtered and faded as the craft touched down lightly on the landing pad, the angular lilac metal of the craft standing out as so much softer than the harsh lines and whiteness of the surrounding Umojan buildings. Tali waited patiently as the doors swung open, and a tall asari with uncharacteristically stiff posture and a wicked smile emerged from within.

"You opened the relay, you idiots," she said in a dull, mock-angry tone. She shook her blue fist at the two quarians. "You monsters. How dare you." She handed over a data pad, her own signature already in place. _Democratic Union for Allied Species Treaty … we're the last ones to ratify it._

"All of our nations are in some way damaged or threatened," said Aethyta, smiling sadly at Tali. "Thessia got zerged. Umoja's got their angry forebears breathing down their necks. And the quarians … well. It is about overdue you people got some help."

"The Migrant Fleet is no more," said Xen tersely, handing the datapad back to Aethyta. "A pity. The scum just opened a relay. That's against galactic law."

"Is that really going to work?" Tali asked Aethyta. _I need to hear it from you. You have more experience with Council law than the three of us combined._

Aethyta shrugged. "Law is tricky, and these are chaotic times. As it stands yes, I think it will. When the dust clears, the salarians and turians will mostly be flinging accusations at each other, and Udina, assuming he still lives, is on the Citadel Council and will be representing us. And of course, I assume the protoss will have no problem with our actions. They have been known to open relays themselves after all, from time to time." Aethyta offered them all a smug grin.

"The fleet formerly known as the Migrant Fleet stands ready to assist her allies," said Xen stiffly, inclining her head towards Aethyta and Ailin. "That being said, we have neither the desire nor the capability of engaging turian forces directly, so if you send any of ours through that relay, I suggest it be for peaceful reasons. Other than that … we are at your disposal."

"And we are at yours," said Ailin, bowing deeply before the women before him. "This is an alliance, after all. Now – regarding Korhal-"

No sooner had Ailin uttered the word, the sound of air raid sirens split the air, making Tali's head snap to her left. Aethyta groaned in dismay while Ailin frantically checked his own omnitool for an update on just what the hell was going on.

"Leviathan," he said shortly after a few seconds of silence. "Zerg from Korhal, I think. Crash course for this city."

"Delightful." Aethyta jerked a thumb back to the shuttle. "In. I think we can all agree that this would be a bad time for the leadership of our new alliance to be decapitated in any way."

Ailin opened his mouth quickly, looked to his surroundings, then his omnitool again, and then nodded. They filed into the shuttle together, which activated its engines even before the doors had fully shut.

"Did someone say something?" asked Aethyta sharply as she sat down, her head whipping back and forth, first to Tali, then to the two pilots. No one answered in the affirmative.

"We're attempting to shoot this thing down … looks like it's trailing guts and will most likely crash to the southwest, outside the city." Ailin wiped his mouth quickly, his neck craning over the lit omnitool. "Shadowguards and marines will move to intercept on the ground, but we've still been advised to move to the other side of the planet."

"A slight pity. I would think the crash of a leviathan falling into the earth would be quite the sight." Xen crossed her legs and tilted her head. "It is wounded, you said?" The shuttle began to lift from the ground, almost drowning out the sirens.

"It would seem to be the same specimen from Korhal, Admiral." Ailin closed his omnitool and licked his lips. "Yes … yes, it is quite wounded. It bears many wounds from Directorate missiles. We should-" The shuttle shook slightly, as if held by some massive beast that wished to know the contents of its prize. The two pilots at the front of the shuttle shot their hands back and forth, checking their instruments. _Is there something wrong?_

"Held in place!" called back one pilot tersely. "Engine is still running, but it's like we're caught in a singularity or something."

"Leviathan closing with the city – time to impact is three minutes." Ailin, despite having previously given every indication of being a nervous wreck, suddenly leaned back against his seat with no discernible expression on his face. "It's funny. I think I just heard something as well."

Tali, unwilling to just sit around and wait, began scanning the interior of the craft, checking for anything, loose wires, the sound of a flagging engine, dripping coolant … everything appeared fine. _And I'm not about to pop open any hatches. Keelah … is it the leviathan?_

"Let's apply some logic to the situation," said Xen coolly, likewise leaning back in her seat. "We are frozen in place and there is no meaningful explanation. A leviathan is about to crash into the city. I would hazard the leviathan is responsible." She yawned, her shifting jaw actually visible beneath her purple visor. "May as well stop fiddling with the controls. The leviathan won't be a problem for very much longer. Maybe I will get to witness the crash in person after all."

"One minute." Ailin stretched his arms and exchanged a glance with Tali. "These are not the best of circumstances, but I am pleased to see you are well, Tali." He grunted as all their heads lurched sideways suddenly. The craft was moving again … but the movement felt in no way certain or even particularly well-guided. _We're being dragged._

"Grandfather." A terran male's voice, weak and thick with liquid. Tali, utterly confused, looked to her compatriots. Admiral Xen sat sedately in her chair, foot tapping lightly against the floor, Aethyta, legs folded and eyes shut, whispered something softly, and Ailin Pasteur sat up with a sudden start, his demeanor suddenly alert and nervous once again.

"Valerian?" Ailin's hands slammed together and he leaned forward, towards the two very confused asari pilots. Something boomed in the distance, and the craft bobbed up and down.

"This day is proving both confusing and delightful." Tali stared incredulously at Xen, who seemed completely unperturbed by both the events going on and Tali's own reaction. "Tali – we may be the first quarians to have contact with the zerg. That is in itself a historic moment." She gestured around the rest of the craft. "All of this is noteworthy as well, of course, but there's nothing like setting a precedent, I find."

 _You've set some pretty ugly precedents, Admiral._ But there was no time to focus on that. The shuttle continued its jerky path through the skies, and Tali's fellow passengers continued to indulge in what appeared to be a case of inexplicable madness. Ailin stared at the radio in anticipation, Aethyta rocked backwards and forwards, muttering, and Admiral Xen whistled a jaunty tune that Tali did not recognize.

When the shuttle stopped moving about three minutes later, Tali could not help but brace herself for the craft just dropping through the air like a stone down a well. Instead, her stomach quivered ever so slightly as the shuttle began descending gently, almost gracefully. Tali, no longer possessing any faith in the people she occupied the shuttle with, felt for her pistol and readied all available combat protocols on her omnitool. Her body tensed and she looked to the back of the shuttle doors. _Wish Reegar were here._

The shuttle came to a bumpy halt, making Tali suspect they had landed on a hill. She leapt to her feet and ordered the hatch opened, pistol drawn. She propelled herself through the open doors and into the sunlight, surveying the area around her for the leviathan. _And it's not difficult to miss._

A great plume of earth rose from where the creature had slid across the ground, creating an enormous mound of detritus that gradually slowed it to a halt. From where Tali stood, not fifty feet away, its titanic mass shaded her from the sun and made it appear more like a twitching mountain than anything else, a vast heap of weeping flesh and torn carapace.

The others filed out behind Tali, much to her surprise.

"Stay inside!" she said, weapon pointed at the leviathan, ready for any of its inhabitants to come spilling out towards them. "Come on! Rescue teams should be here-"

The mound of dirt exploded, showering the ground around it with the scattered filth. The leviathan's face, such as it was, torn and mangled, became visible. Its gaping mouth opened, revealing sets of broken teeth still far larger than Tali herself. From within the cavernous depths of its infernal gullet, something shone from within, a light in putrid darkness. _Something blue._

"Hold fire, Tali." Ailin Pasteur strode past her, gazing into the darkness. He looked up at the beast's eyes, scrutinizing it. The leviathan's eyes rolled in place as it shuddered twice, liquid spilling from its open mouth. Smoke curled from its back, from some invisible wound. The light shone brighter and Tali, even despite her brain screaming at her to feel caution, somehow felt unafraid.

"The beast is guided by something," said Xen, still utterly unfazed by the events unfolding before her. "The Overmind, once. Now – something else, I think. And it wants dialogue." She sniffed. "I would have accepted a written or verbal invitation, but this is acceptable. Tali, would you be so kind to put your gun away? There's a good girl."

Tali shoved her gun back in its holster and folded her arms, waiting. The blue light became a tiny blazing sun, and the shadow of a figure emerged from the beast's mouth, still many feet away. They both closed the distance.

Whoever the distant figure was, it did not appear immediately concerned with Tali and crew. It instead rested its hand against the side of the leviathan, rubbing the hand back and forth. _Comforting it? Because it's … dying._ The four of them stopped before the mouth of the beast, watching the figure, which stood with a heavy sigh.

On the … creature's back rested what appeared to be folded wings, four thick tendrils of exoskeleton that bent back in itself and rested against the creature's back. Small streams of what looked like protoss nerve cords cascaded down to the nape of its neck. A thick blue carapace covered the creature's torso and extremities, and the hands terminated in thick claws. The creature turned to them, revealing the twisted yet still recognizable face … of an asari.

"Well now," said Xen, breaking the silence almost immediately. "This _is_ interesting."

"Please do not be afraid," said the infested asari, holding up a deadly looking hand and undermining her own request. Her voice echoed and rippled, its feminine tone and sound carrying an undercurrent of bestial power. "This is … a desperate measure. I did not want to reveal myself like this, and I regret having to pull you away in such a fashion. I am Liara T'soni … Queen of the Zerg Swarm."

"No!" Tali almost jumped as Aethyta screamed, falling to her knees without any apparent warning. Tali opened her mouth to say something, only for Aethyta to pound the earth once with her fist, a muffled shriek ripping through her lips. "No…"

"Matriarch Aethyta? We met once." Liara sounded bitter. Tali looked up at her to see a sad and twisted smile upon her face. "You showed me kindness, I remember. I would … return the favor. Here and now, if you would accept it." Aethyta did not rise, instead pounding the earth three more times while sobbing almost inaudibly. Liara stretched out her hand … and then retracted it, turning to Ailin Pasteur.

"Valerian is with me," she said, voice curt. "The zerg attacked Augustgrad specifically to extract him, to better facilitate an alliance. I would suggest calling for whatever medical professionals you have handy; the Directorate admiral shot him in the side."

"He's alive?" Ailin stepped forward, wringing his hands. "I … show me!"

Liara motioned behind her … and a rachni stepped out of the shadows, enormous, the heir apparent of the Dominion carried on her back.

"Another problem," said Liara as Ailin looked on at the pale face of his unconscious grandson riding atop a supposedly extinct alien, "I brought back the rachni as well. Well … Valerian played a great role in that, too. I came here to beg for your aid and forge an alliance so that both our peoples might survive." The rachni trilled at this.

"They are hardly geth," mused Xen, stepping forward and surveying the two queens with polite interest. "The quarian people can hardly make personal use of such organic technology. Nevertheless … our foes have proven themselves fond of both brute force and numbers. This would even the scales. What do you think, Tali?"

Tali stared up at the mountain of carapace and teeth before her, then down at the two races that by all rights should have long gone extinct. _It's hard … this is an opportunity, but if the galaxy learns that we harbored such creatures … if the_ protoss _learn that we harbored them…_

 _My people evaded both of the threats of these species. At no point in my life was I taught the same naked fear and hate that the other races were._ She glanced at Xen. _At the same time … we shouldn't be thinking to exploit them. Remember Tarsonis. But here … here is a representative of the Swarm at last, trying to communicate with us._

Valerian Mengsk stirred atop the rachni. Sirens echoed in the distance.

"For what it matters, I think the opportunity to save an innocent political figure with considerable power and … personal significance would be a wise move," said Ailin, slowly edging towards the unconscious figure of his son. "And … the opportunity to save two alien species from genocide … the Protectorate has always prized biodiversity. Assuming this is not a trick … that you are not going to try and coat this planet in creep…" Ailin looked to Tali as well.

Tali shrugged. "Something provisional, I don't know. The zerg haven't really allied with anyone before, have they? But … we really need to keep this quiet. If the protoss find out…"

"I would not put you all in danger … but I'm afraid I already have." Liara shut her eyes for a moment, and folded her arms. "For that, I am sorry. My leviathan is inches from death and my forces are greatly depleted. If … if you do choose to extinguish us, I will not resist. Valerian can explain to you the Reaper threat."

"What did your mother call you?" asked Aethyta, looking up from the ground and staring at Liara, the tears falling from her eyes. "If you really are Liara … what did your mother call you?"

Liara gaped at the High Matriarch for a moment before recovering.

"Little Wing."

Aethyta stood, wiping the moisture from her eyes with a rough hand.

"Get me that datapad."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Garrus**

 **A/N: Trouble writing this one. Tali still has a large role to play, but has little to do in this particular scene except provide a viewpoint, which I dislike.**


	34. A Legend Among Spectres

**Garrus**

Garrus stared out the window of the skycar, trying to soak in the majestic violet skyline of Illium's largest city, Nos Ostra, before they descended into squalor together. The great curved buildings of the city rose into the air like mountains covered in imperial velvet, a far cry from the harsh lines and hunkered buildings of Palaven. _A planet built with luxury and business in mind. And now it houses the majority of an entire species._

"You sure nobody's going to recognize you for who you are, Archangel?" teased Kerrigan from the other seat, keeping her eyes fixed on the road even as she winked at him, a gesture Garrus recalled was an expression of mischievous trust, a shared joke. _It's a macabre one. Zeratul refuses to show his face until the UED footage is proven false, the geth are too conspicuous and socially unconscious to bring Legion, and Saren … Saren will likely wear a combat helmet in public for the rest of his life._ Garrus had suggested Saren adopt the markings of his place of birth, like a _good_ turian would, only to be firmly shot down.

"Tarsonis does not encapsulate my character, my being," he had said, hand resting on his helmet while he stared into the crimson skyline of an Illium sunset, the screams of a riot echoing from far below. "My actions were necessary … and even if it was a mistake, my other achievements … my other achievements outweigh whatever harm was done. I only played a role in the catastrophe. Someone else would have pulled the trigger, if asked." _Idiot. You can hide your face, but there's not much you can do about the false arm. Word will get out. Just see where that line will get you when you're staring down a lynch mob._

"That's been his stock answer for years," said Kerrigan sadly, making Garrus sigh. _I am becoming accustomed to your reading my mind, but I would still prefer if you didn't._

"Then keep your guard up," said Kerrigan, all humor gone. "Did you see the footage? Those things can make archons. I don't think they brought their psionic A-game to the _Amerigo_ , but the cat's out of the … uh, they're out in the open now. And they have protoss servants. Don't stop thinking about that turian national anthem. What was it called?"

Garrus responded by thinking the chorus of "Die For the Cause" as hard as he could, making Kerrigan giggle. The skyline of Illium began to vanish, and the seemingly lilac colored air turned a faint yellow. _Refugee City. The Sea of Tents. Sad how they couldn't manage to lose that last name, even as all the tents gave way to actual prefab structures…_

"You know, Adrien Victus was the first turian I ever met, the first turian whose mind I ever read." Kerrigan's tone was casual, but Garrus noted the faint whitening of the knuckles against the wheel, the way Kerrigan's eyes remained fixed on the air in front of them, on the traffic around them. "You're not much like him. A lot of the turians I met at first … not much of a sense of humor. Good people, though, I still think." Her lips thinned, and she shot a quick glance at Garrus. "Point being … I'm sorry if you guys catch all the flak for Tarsonis. I saw Victus's thoughts. Regret. Such regret. At least the man truly responsible is dead." A genuine smile this time, one Garrus could not share.

 _Such misery left in the wake of Mengsk's vile life. Now we're left with … what?_ Judging by the confused news reports and record-breaking protests, the answer seemed to be chaos and panic.

"Think Tela Vasir's on the planet, too?" Garrus asked, breaking the silence. "I'm sure Zeratul wouldn't mind getting a shot at her."

"I wouldn't mind either, to be honest." Kerrigan's fingers drummed against the steering wheel. "Mengsk's down. Time to deal with the rest of the monsters now. I'm hoping that's what Jim's thinking." She shook her head, looking pained. "I … I can't believe he did that. I mean, I guess I would have done the same, but … with all of those cameras pointed at me? In front of Arcturus's son?" She sighed. "In your position, knowing about Taronis … would you have done it?"

 _Would I?_ Garrus thought back to his early days of being "Archangel," of what he had set out to accomplish. _To kill criminals … to firmly put a bullet in their head and put an end to all of their heinousness. To react with brutal efficiency where the law flounders … it still appeals. Truly it does._

 _But … where does it end up, really? You're outside the law, there's no establishment backing you up. The only rules you adhere to are the ones you make up, and those can be broken at your convenience. And there's always the risk of making mistakes._ Garrus's mandibles twitched.

"If you had asked me that a year ago, I would have said yes," he said finally, turning to Kerrigan and wondering if she knew his conclusion already, if she had kept careful track of his racing thoughts. "But now … I agree with what Raynor first said. There should have been a trial."

"If they had stopped, wouldn't that have given an opportunity for Warfield to jump in, for him to use the zerg to get away?" Kerrigan looked to Garrus for a moment, unblinking, fastening her gaze upon his face and refusing to look away. _I guess her psionics mean she doesn't have to watch for traffic?_ It didn't matter. What mattered was the question – and the faster he answered it, the faster Kerrigan would pay visual attention to the traffic.

Garrus stared out at the troublingly yellow horizon, at the shanty town of prefabs that stretched endlessly below them. _Well … there's a perfect comparison to be made here. And it's not like it's really a secret. No doubt Sarah combed over the report when she decided to recruit me…_

"When I ordered the Citadel docking bay guns to fire on the transport the volus hijacked … I didn't regret it at first. Not for a minute." Kerrigan watched Garrus's face carefully, making him wonder if she had taken the same kind of lessons she had given him, learning to read turian facial expressions. _Well … she and Saren have been working together for some time. I'm sure she's proficient._ Garrus tried to keep his own face still, his own voice calm. "They were ultranationalist scum, after all. We knew they had planted and detonated the bomb in the Zakera Ward. We knew they were inside. We knew they would strike again if given the chance. And we knew there was an innocent bunch of passengers being held hostage inside; probably about thirty people." Garrus looked away, placing his hands together in his lap and pressing the fingers against each other firmly. "The only thing we didn't know was the body count the bastards had left behind, because the damage had been so extensive. And we didn't know what the volus would do to the other passengers, if they escaped. And the other thing we knew ... there were a few C-Sec guys in the blast, we knew that at least. And what luck … I was the one to catch them as they headed out, the first C-Sec officer on the docks."

"They told you not to take the shot." _So. You did read the report. But then, she would have to be a fool to ignore it._

"Yes." Garrus blinked, and for a moment he could see the flash of orange again on the video monitor, the twisted wreckage being flung about the void, left to float among the Citadel's extensive traffic. "That was the last we heard of the Irune Liberation Front. I ended that particular brand of lunacy. And the lives of twenty-seven people besides." Garrus looked out the side window. The hazy light now began to fade. "I can recite their names if you want. The least I could have done for them, remembering who they were. Kem Milak. Salarian. Age fourteen. Donald Borisov. Terran. Eighteen. Jellis Kryik, no relation to the Spectre. Turian. Twenty-four. Coryn Stellak. Turian. Nine." Garrus leaned back against the back of his seat. "I created seven widowers, thirteen widows, and twenty-five orphans that day. I don't know how many parents lost children. But I got them. I killed seven volus terrorists. The funny thing is, I just felt angry. I knew what was coming. There wasn't a reason to feel triumphant. I never did feel like a hero for pressing that button. For making that call."

"So I'm guessing you don't approve of what Jim did either?" Sarah pursed her lips, somehow unsatisfied. Garrus hardened his own expression, his mandibles setting themselves firmly perpendicular against his jaw.

"It will bring him no pleasure in the end, maybe not even in the moment." Garrus's fingers began to hurt, yet he pressed them together harder, relishing the sensation. "The thing is … in moments like that, I knew some things for a certainty. So did Jim. I knew what I was doing was against my orders, and that there were reasonable arguments against it. I knew that it spelled the death of about thirty innocents, maybe more, maybe less. I knew that, institutionally, logically, morally, taking that shot was wrong. I'm sure Jim knew that, too. And, like him, I'm sure, I thought maybe, just maybe, it would prevent further incidents in the future. My gut told me that this was a fact, but really…? It was a guess. And deep down, I knew that, too." Garrus closed his eyes. "It was the wrong thing to do. I no longer deny that. The faster your Jim Raynor accepts that and tries to make amends, the happier he'll be. Maybe."

"What about Saren?" Kerrigan framed the question lightly, but Garrus knew she was listening intently. "I don't think anyone will deny Victus redeemed himself, and pretty quickly and definitively at that. But what about him?"

"Saren Arterius can languish in denial for as long as he wants," replied Garrus, offering a shrug, eyes still shut. "But now that it's out in the open … I'm wondering how long he can keep playing Tarsonis off as something necessary, something that either requires no atonement, or that he's already atoned for."

Kerrigan began to steer the skycar down, into the filth and misery below. "He's managed it for six years so far, Vakarian. I'm thinking he won't back down, even on his death bed. He's not much like Victus either." _Yeah, we turians run are crazy, aren't we? Run a real spectrum from dutiful but reasonable, to … dutiful but unreasonable._

"And a few have a sense of humor," said Kerrigan, as the skycar alighted on the landing pad. She sighed. She smiled at him. "Hey … thanks. And just so you know, I didn't want you as a Spectre because of the transport incident."

"No," said Garrus, opening the passenger door and running his fingers briefly over the scars on his face, where Majesty had touched him. "It was obviously because I'm the finest looking turian you've ever laid eyes on."

Sarah smiled, and for the first time there was no sign of unhappiness or strange buried underneath. She stretched out her arms before pinging the omnitool of the dock worker approaching her. _Spectre business. You will be compensated for letting us use this landing pad. Probably._ Garrus took the time to register his surroundings, striding to the edge of the landing pad and looking down over the streets below, elbows braced against the railings.

 _This is not the Illium on the brochures._ The buildings did not stretch nearly as high into the air, all of them instead looking hunched and somehow furtive. The air Garrus drew in tasted of dust and smoke, and judging from the faint haze in the fading light, there were definite problems with air pollution. Down below the pad, the people jostled against one another in crowded streets, with children of all species much in evidence, many of them unaccompanied by adults. _Hmm. This is far more of a Terminus planet now than it was before the war._

"And it's only going to get worse from here," said Kerrigan, joining Garrus's side and looking down at the masses below. "Plenty of people stranded on both sides of Relay 118 when the Waygates blew. God knows how they're going to get back home with the UED blockading their end of the Koprulu Sector. Speaking of … our contact awaits."

Garrus felt for his back, feeling the comforting firmness of his weapons' stocks. _Not going in empty-handed. Although … I'm sure Kerrigan has me more than well enough defended._

The two of them took a quick turbo lift ride down to street level, causing a very noticeable spike in the air's foulness. Kerrigan pulled out a breath mask from her belt and fastened it to her face with a sigh, while Garrus did the same with his own helmet. _Wandering down here … probably just be mistaken for another pair of mercenaries, probably Blue Suns._ He followed his terran ally through the crowds, trying to stay close, and keeping an eye out for her lengthy red hair when they did become temporarily parted.

From the doorways and street stalls, many curious yet unsympathetic eyes fixed on the pair of them as they gradually forced their ways through the crowds, Kerrigan occasionally slapping aside the hands of would-be child pickpockets. _They're looking at our armor. Our guns. They're wondering how many meals it would buy them…_

Fortunately (and Garrus felt somewhat guilty for thinking about it that way) the number of errant denizens of Refugee City decreased drastically as they approached their destination, an area where the prefab buildings hunched ever closer together and threatened to choke out the (now very feeble) light. Passersby looked to their weapons and armor with mixed respect and weariness instead of desperate longing; this was not the side of town where people's children were threatened with starvation. _Getting shot, though…_

"They think we're mercs," said Kerrigan, confirming Garrus's suspicions from earlier. "Funny how it's easier to calm criminals down with a few weapons than it is a bunch of … I'll just call them innocents." _Funny? I would call it sad._ Kerrigan did not respond to this, instead stopping in place and pointing to a five story prefab structure, all the lights blazing from the windows, graffiti seeming to dance in the dark. Vibrant music pulsed from within, grinding on Garrus's nerves and making him wince from behind his helmet.

They sidled up to the door without a word. Garrus knocked with a heavy fist, wondering if he would even be heard over the music. He tried not to stumble backwards as the door slid open nearly immediately, a massive krogan brandishing a shotgun slouching on the other side.

"Password?" he grunted, the shotgun slowly leveling to Garrus's crotch level as the brief silence descended. _Damned krogan._

"There's always a bigger fish." Kerrigan removed her mask and smirked at the krogan, whose red eyes narrowed.

"That's not-"

The krogan slammed against the wall next to the door, the weapon falling out of his grip. Kerrigan strode past him without even looking, leaving Garrus to catch up. He paused, closed the door, and muttered an apology to the krogan, who just stared at him with panicked eyes, unable to move. _That was unnecessary._

"I don't have time for the whole turian/krogan rivalry shit." Kerrigan waved a hand back at Garrus dismissively, flinging open a side door and descending the concrete steps within. "And I don't like it when people point their guns at you." The music faded slightly, giving way to a low and steady throb, interspersed with the sounds of people speaking in hushed tones. At the bottom of the steps, leaning against the wall and flanked on either side by a pair of batarians, stood their contact. A single lightbulb swung by a wire from the ceiling, casting everything in alternately bright light and utter shadow.

"Did the bouncer at the door give you trouble?" The terran with the flaming pink hair and glowing false eye tutted when Kerrigan gave an affirmative nod. "I told him to expect you … but then, I told you the password as well, my good Spectre. Tell me you are not becoming impatient in your old age?"

"Old?" Sarah raised an eyebrow while Garrus rolled his own eyes, wondering if she would ever tire of her newfound strength. "I can legally kill everyone in this room if I needed to. Your idiot krogan pointed a gun at my comrade's crotch."

"I forgot to tell him we were expecting turians today," said the contact, stepping forward and inspecting Garrus. "Hmm. Mira Han. A pleasure." She extended a gloved hand, which Garrus shook, as per terran custom. "Saren Arterius? Or … Garrus Vakarian? I think I can guess, given the news lately."

"It's Garrus," Garrus replied, looking the woman up and down. She folded her arms and smiled at him, a curiously disconcerting expression with her false eye. "You have something for us?"

Mira Han turned on her heel and resumed her position by the wall, sighing. "We are both after the same man, a very naughty employee of mine who went so unexpectedly missing. Colonel Orlan." Mira paused and then scowled at Kerrigan. "No doubt you've already read my thoughts and plumbed everything I know about him, haven't you?"

"No," said Kerrigan, a pained expression crossing her face. "No I haven't."

It was Mira's turn to smirk now, and she produced a small cylindrical device from inside her jacket. "Orlan was always so resourceful, finding things like this. I never thought I would own a psi-screen … but then of course, he vanishes, and all of these nasty turians show up with them implanted in their skulls." Mira scowled again, and pocketed the screen again. "Now I follow him here, and the Waygate detonates behind me. Miserable week. Not as miserable as Aria's, though, caught in the Koprulu Sector like that."

"Aria's on the other side of the relay?" Garrus laughed openly as Mira cheerfully nodded. "Huh. I wonder what Omega looks like right about now."

"Elias Kelham's keeping Aria's seat warm for her and everyone's on their best behavior." Mira pouted. "Poor Kelham. His empire fell apart and he didn't even get to see it. And as for me … well. Deadman's Port is a long way. I think I'll stop by Omega, too." _Wonderful. It's good to see the criminals banding together to form a new empire literally days after the KMC shatters. A pity we're not here to take you out…_

Kerrigan smiled at this, but it still vanished quickly. "Orlan. I didn't come here to hear you ramble on about your little criminal world." She held up a hand. "Or Matthew Horner. Alright? Orlan. Coordinates."

"We tracked him to a cozy little prefab near the Stintius River," said Mira, sighing and producing her omnitool. Garrus's and Kerrigan's own omnitools lit up in tandem. "Nineteen henchman that we could see, all former men of mine. Reliable smugglers, not the best fighters. They're all acting rather paranoid, as if expecting someone." Mira shrugged and smiled while the layout of a building glowed on Garrus's tool, accompanied by a set of coordinates. "I can't imagine who. He's even using guard dogs, of all things."

"Really?" Kerrigan glanced up at that and pursed her lips. "Hmm. Were you planning on lending any assistance, Mira?"

"Nope! This one's all yours." Mira Han closed her eyes for a moment and held up a finger. "One thing, however. A few of my people disappeared keeping an eye on Orlan. Had a direct audio feed. Last sound – always the sound of something electrical, and then sizzling flesh. We did manage to recover one body – Marius Talvani, fine turian – hastily tossed into the river. Cut cleanly in half. Know of anybody or anything that might have done it?"

"We both know the answer to that question." Kerrigan turned her omnitool off and glared at Mira. "You're being more straightforward than usual. Feeling worried?"

"My dear Matthew is consorting with Earthers, my way home is cut off, and protoss are cutting my men in half," replied Mira, no smile this time. "You find Alan and make him stop all this nonsense. Find these people responsible … and then maybe catch up with Jim, yes? These Earthers need to be dealt with."

"Those Earthers just ended the greatest mass murderer in history when no one else would," snapped Kerrigan, turning to leave. "Best of luck in Omega. Let's move it, Vakarian."

They left the building together, the krogan at the door hurriedly opening the entrance and practically bowing as the two of them walked past him without a word. As the door slammed shut behind them, Kerrigan stopped and sighed, pulling out her mask once more and reapplying it to her face.

"Dark Templar and dogs," she said sourly, looking at her hands. "Dogs, that cheeky … urgh."

"I'm not following," said Garrus, having finally remembered what dogs were. _Like varren, but with less fish and more fur._

"I can cloak with the aid of a device and Zeratul wraps himself up in the Void, but neither of us stops being corporeal," said Kerrigan, glowering at the night's sky, apparently in thought. "Both of us can keep quiet, but neither of us can stop … smelling. They're a poor man's missile turret."

 _Ah._ Garrus opened the building layout again, and then zoomed out to look at the street. _Lots of open sight lines, taller nearby towers … hmm._

"Is contacting local law enforcement an option?" asked Garrus, closing the overview. "The building is pretty exposed. Might not be a bad idea."

Kerrigan shook her head, but then suddenly looked thoughtful. "Law enforcement against protoss? No. And actually getting their help tends to be a more involved process then just shouting "Spectre business" and then walking away. However … there is one person on this planet who might help us out. Justicar, though. Somewhat outside the law."

"Hmm." _Justicar, huh? Never thought I'd meet one of those._ Garrus took a deep breath. "Stealth is not much of an option that I can see," said Garrus. "Small building. Good view of surrounding streets. If outright invisibility is not an option and we can't bring down the cops, I would propose something a bit more … forthright."

Kerrigan waited, listening. _Oh? Not going to read my mind? Much appreciated._

"We have some of the finest sharpshooters in the galaxy at our disposal," continued Garrus, pointing to the three tallest and closest buildings to Orlan's hideout. "We take up a position above them, one of us in each building, and begin picking them off one by one. Legion and Zeratul-"

"Me and Zeratul, maybe the justicar," corrected Kerrigan. "Legion is a fine sniper, and you'll want as much psionic firepower on the ground as possible."

Garrus stared at Kerrigan for a moment, simply caught off-guard. "Ah – alright. Legion, myself, and Saren will pick off any available targets while the two of you attempt a breach. If it's just ordinary sapients that Mira didn't even consider good fighters, we should have a good chance. We can heavily trap the buildings … think "Spectre business" will get us access to them for a night?"

Kerrigan turned her head slightly, eyes somewhat narrowed. Then, slowly, she smiled and nodded. "I think we can make this work."

They began to return to the landing pads, the streets now considerably thinned out thanks to a curfew. When stopped by a pair of haggard-looking asari cops, "Spectre business" bought them a ride back to their vehicle. From there, it became a matter of splitting duties.

"Take me up to the northwest building," said Garrus, staring at the layout again. "I've already got a rifle on me. I'll scope the place out, clear out any civilians that might be present, and start trapping my nest. I'll let the rest of you know just what to expect."

"And I'll make a call to that justicar." Kerrigan turned the wheel and shifted in her seat, pressing down on a pedal and forcing the skycar to climb in altitude. "The others too, I suppose. If we're really dealing with rogue Templar, it'd be good to have one on our side. Pretty sure there's no one deadlier than Zeratul."

"Not even you?" Garrus scanned Kerrigan's face for the reaction.

"Not even me," she said firmly, bringing the vehicle to a stop. "We might be in luck; this building looks pretty run-down. Might be abandoned." _Luck? That means I might be chasing out drunken squatters with a gun._

"Call me back if there's problems." Garrus's door slid open while Kerrigan fixed her eyes back on the road. "Like squatters turning out to be Dark Templar, for instance."

 _Yeah, I'm guessing Fenix won't be charging in to save me this time._ Garrus gave Kerrigan a nod and dropped on to the lip of the balcony while the skycar began departing almost immediately. Reaching back for his assault rifle, Garrus took a deep breath and pressed forward towards the doors of the building, opening them as quietly as possible.

As "luck" would have it, the building was indeed in considerable disuse, something Garrus found odd, given that space in Refugee City was at a premium. The interior of the prefab looked dark and dusty; when Garrus ran a finger over the wall, it came away with a decent layer of grimy looking powder. The floors appeared strewn with rubbish; old food wrappers, old opened suitcases, pairs of underwear of varying sizes for different races … but no sign of life. Garrus nevertheless left a trail of tactical mines from his omnitool behind him, unwilling to be taken by surprise by a protoss. _No more Vakarians will die by their hands._

Room to room he searched, checking for any sign of life and finding only emptiness. The only sound that could be heard was the steady dripping of water from a minor second floor leak. The smell of rot filled the house.

"Nothing here that I can see, Kerrigan." Garrus stood by the front entrance and stared out in the direction of the hideout. "Empty building, now secure. Setting up a vantage point."

Garrus clambered back up the stairs, almost slipping on something indescribable as he made the final step. Cursing quietly to himself, he strode past his gleaming tactical mines and put his assault rifle back on his back in favor of his personal favorite. _Alright. This is where we get to work._ _Those mines will last all night … just have to hope that no one decides to squat here in the meantime._ Given the relative condition of the building, however, Garrus found that doubtful.

 _Four men on the second floor balcony._ Garrus adjusted the scope, zooming in to get a better look at their silhouettes. _Assault rifles? Some kind of longarm, probably assault rifles. Three men patrolling below, trying to look inconspicuous. Assault rifles, walking varren – I mean, dogs, dogs around. Going to assume that Han's count was accurate … shame there's no way of knowing the protoss numbers._

"Justicar friend is inbound." Garrus could hear Saren's voice in the background of Kerrigan's radio. "Dropping off Legion and Saren at their respective locations. How many can you see from your position?" Garrus listed them off tersely, constantly checking for anyone else. _Nah, that's all I got from here._

"How confident you feeling so far?" asked Kerrigan.

Garrus looked behind him, at the mine-strewn room that led to his balcony, and then down at the unaware, poorly armored goons below.

"You want me to take them by myself? Because I've held off armies before you know." Garrus sucked in a breath and returned his eye to his scope. "There was this one time, in Omega…"

Kerrigan chuckled at this, and Garrus could not help but join in. In the far-off distance, a skycar hovered next to the three story building opposite. _Wonder how Legion will clear the building? Saren will probably just kill everyone inside his, if they get in his way._ Garrus's stomach twisted at this. _Dammit … looked up to him as a turian exemplar for six years, and then I just get kicked in the face._

One of the terrans below wandered inside, a dog loping in with him. No one replaced him, making Garrus suspect that most of the poor bastards below had gone to bed. _And … oh dear. One of the balcony guys just lit up a cigarette. Gives me an excellent view of his skull and upper body. Guess they're not taking this all the way seriously. More's the pity._

"Vakarian-Spectre." _The geth._ "Three hostiles visible from southeast location. One dog. Sensors indicate a Serrice brand light armor underlay, and Elanus Risk Control rifles. They are poorly equipped."

 _Did Mira lie to us, or is this really going to be this easy?_

"Still technically just a candidate, Legion," said Garrus, still inwardly marveling that there would come a day that he would speak to a geth, never mind go on an op with one. "You a good shot?"

"Probability of missing any available targets at this range is less than three percent." The machine whirred and clicked on the other side of the line. "Our accuracy has frequently been lauded by organics in past battlefield interactions. At this range, Widow rounds may be overkill, but will have noticeable effect on protoss targets. We consider it a worthwhile trade."

 _It's using a Widow?_ Garrus resisted the urge to move his scope in Legion's direction, to try and get a better view of the geth. _Well. That'll be useful if Orlan's somehow acquired a tank._

"In position." Saren wasted little time saying anything else. "Kerrigan … Zeratul. Is the justicar here?"

"Five minutes out, but we're going in." Garrus shifted in place, keeping his elbow braced against the balcony. "Remember: we want Orlan alive. He's the only one we know for sure was involved with the psi screens and the protoss. Try to target the dogs first … I like being able to cloak and not giving people an idea of where I ran off to."

"If any of my befouled brethren appear in your sights, alert me immediately." Zeratul's voice was barely above a whisper, yet Garrus swore the protoss spoke directly into his ear, making him shiver. "I will not see anyone else harmed at their hands. Let us end this."

 _Stand by. Stand by._ Garrus fixed his sight squarely on the chest of the man with the cigarette, who now leaned against the wall and stared blankly out into the open space, unaware of his sudden imminent demise. _Ah … part of me feels sorry for him. But people are dying all over the galaxy. And these people are responsible._ Garrus felt a subtle nudging in his mind. He squeezed the trigger.

His own gun seemed to go off in unison with the others, leaving Garrus for a moment wondering why his own weapon let off such a loud discharge. His target slammed against the wall he leaned against before face planting against the balcony, a sizable streak of blood left in his wake. The other guards stared gormlessly about for a moment, momentarily confused even as the dogs barked and howled.

 _Bang._ Another one fell bonelessly, letting out a strangled cry as gravity dragged him downward. Then the shouting started, the terrans below shouting at one another in confusion, one firing his or her weapon into the open sky without any apparent clue as to what was going on.

"Local law enforcement estimated response time: twelve minutes." Legion spouted off this fact even as its own rifle discharged again, echoing through the buildings.

"Samara – the justicar – she's got our backs," panted Kerrigan. "Illium police are used to justicars starting shit. Besides – easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. Key Spectre fact to remember." Garrus fired again, nailing a dog in the side of the neck and sending it twisting away from him, its head now attached only by a few gory strands of gristle. _Ugh … hope that death was quick._ "Front entrance is clear. We're going in."

 _Best of luck._ Orlan's people were not putting up very much resistance, but that most likely just meant that they were in over their heads. _Or we have the wrong people._ Garrus tried to shove that particular thought aside.

"Presence in building." Legion, making Garrus briefly shift his scope over to the geth's own perch. The robot's head had swiveled a full 180 degrees to stare back into the building, and the body soon followed, facing its rifle towards the busted down balcony doors. _Or maybe we do have the right people…_

"Dark Templar," breathed Zeratul. "I can sense them, their desperation a cloying scent. Stand fast, Legion. I will protect you."

Another skycar flew by, its lights temporarily blinding Garrus as he refixed his sights on the building. By now, the only people he could see were the guards peaking their heads out windows, trying frantically to determine where the shots were coming from. _Everywhere._ Garrus planted his reticule on the nearest window and waited. Four seconds later, he squeezed the trigger, and the guard's head vanished behind the window again, leaving a puff of blood. From within the building, someone screamed, and a body came hurtling from out the now open front door. _Guess Kerrigan's outside._ The skycar touched down outside the building, and a tall yet slim figure emerged from it, disappearing into the building quickly. _Justicar?_

"Did the justicar just go inside?" asked Garrus. "Do we have her on this channel? Kerrigan, do we-" A muffled bang from inside the building caught Garrus off-guard, making him jump from his gun and immediately produce his own pistol. _Inside. Protoss._

"Someone's in my building!" called out Garrus, just as another mine went off, flooding the inside of the staircase with orange. _I've got no way of seeing him … I'm out._ "I'm rappelling down!"

Garrus pulled out a length of rappelling wire from his belt and threw the hook down on the floor before hurling the wire down the other side. Another mine went off, and a chill sent over Garrus. _Just fear, or something more?_ Garrus retrieved his rifle, slotting it to his back, and then vaulted over the edge, hands holding tight around the wire. He descended as quickly as he dared, his gloves protecting against the worst of the wire's pinching while the knowledge of the ground not being terribly far off protected against the worst of Garrus's fear. Looking down, he could see nothing … but there couldn't be much further to go.

Another skycar flew overhead while sirens sounded in the distance. Garrus's feet finally touched the ground, and he sprinted for the building, from which there now came no sound.

"That's Samara," called out Saren. "Current airborne skycar. No idea who the other person is. Kerrigan? Zeratul?"

"Two of them," grunted Zeratul. "Pursuing. Legion – assist Kerrigan. There may be more! Garrus?"

"Approaching building, think I'm in the clear." Garrus sprinted as fast as he could while the skycar touched down next to the mystery intruder's. "Kerrigan?"

The building exploded with blue light, and Garrus lost his footing as he was flung backwards, a titanic and unknowable force lifting him from his feet and slamming him into the ground. Rubble burst and fell in all directions, and Garrus craned his head just in time to see the gaping hole now apparent in the building before him. A glowing blue figure leapt out, her form shimmering, a man held over her shoulder. She dashed into the skycar while the shimmering seemed to leave her … approaching Garrus.

Garrus lifted an arm and spat out a mine on the ground a few feet before him. It burst immediately to no apparent effect, and Garrus scrambled backwards.

"Here!" A figure in red armor, tall and austere, hands likewise glowing blue. A nimbus of light shot past Garrus and collided with the unseen menace. Garrus pulled his pistol out and quickly leveled it, but the shots he squeezed were to no apparent effect. As he backed away, legs pumping, the asari leapt forward while the mystery intruder's skycar began to take off.

The asari – justicar, Garrus realized – slammed an open glowing palm into the ground, sundering the earth and sending shards of concrete in all directions – save Garrus's, he quickly realized. From the ruin, a familiar voice shouted something indiscernible, and then two faint shimmers danced, making Garrus wish he had a dog. Or some kind of detection software.

"Police response delayed," reported Legion over the din while Garrus trained his weapon and waited for something clear to happen. "Detecting possible orbital disturbance. Alert: departing skycar contains Orlan."

"Vasir!" screamed Kerrigan's voice, and the skycar shuddered, pulled by some unseen energy. Garrus watched in shock and awe as the skycar shuddered and whined in place. Then he came to his senses and emptied rounds into the engine block until his pistol overheated. The metal cracked and punctured, but the whining did not decrease in volume or intensity. Without warning, the skycar shot into the air, apparently released by Kerrigan and flung with incredible speeds away.

 _Well. I know what to do._

"I need your car!" he shouted back at Samara, slotting his weapon into his holster, not waiting up for anyone. _Can't contribute against Dark Templar, but I'd like to see Zeratul pilot one of these in a high speed chase._ He flung open the driver's door, activated his omnitool and sliced through the car's pitiful security with a nice dose of omnigel, and then started the engine. His side door opened and he caught red hair at the corner of his vision.

"Chased off a Dark Templar, but I really want to get off the ground," she said breathlessly. The back door opened, and a stately figure entered it. "Come on. They're bound for Nos Astra. Saren, Legion, acquire a vehicle and follow us! Zeratul – kill every goddamn Dark Templar you can find!"

"Kerrigan-Spectre," said Legion, somehow … halting, shocked. "Kerrigan-Spectre we have-" A blast of sound cut off Legion, deafening Garrus and even drowning out the sound of the skycar's engine as it rose.

"What?" Kerrigan yelled, trying to be heard over the inexplicable sounds of many piercing sirens. "Legion, repeat!"

"Kerrigan-Spectre, it would appear the orbital disturbance is the Turian Seventh Fleet. They are moving with intent to take Illium and local asari forces are in apparent disarray."

 _Well. That makes things interesting._

"Could this be a worse time?" Saren asked, his fury blazing from every syllable.

"So. We make the opening moves at last." Garrus could not feel anything, only the simple driving desire to take Orlan and try to help end this madness. _But the Empire is not moving to madness's tune, are they? This is calculated. The precise moment the galaxy is in the most chaos, with the batarians stuck on the wrong side of the galaxy, the Dominion shattered, and the asari still rebuilding. Not sure what they're going to think of a team of Spectres and protoss affiliates getting in the way of any ground offensive…_

"This changes nothing!" bellowed Garrus, accelerating the skycar as fast as it would go in the direction of Nos Astra. "This is Spectre justice! We take out Vasir and find out who's in charge of somehow making the galaxy even worse than it usually is!"

"If only the gentlemen in orbit held such sentiments," said Samara from the back seat.

"Straight ahead," said Kerrigan, pointing to a faint dot on the horizon. "Orlan's panicking like a little bitch. Can't feel Vasir, but I saw her face. They're the ones we want."

Garrus grunted and turned the wheel, propelling the skycar out of the filth of Refugee City and towards the toned down filth of Nos Astra. Kerrigan unslung her rifle and pulled open the door, bracing herself against the edge and planting an elbow on the vehicle's roof, her rifle pointed squarely at their distant target. The car filled with the roaring of the wind.

 _Straight ahead. Steady._ Garrus complied with Kerrigan's mental request, bringing the car level and waiting…

"Shit!" Something heavy and incredibly fast made the car's collision detection sensors go crazy; a streak of blazing light flew past Garrus's vision and made him jerk, the car jerking with him. The night sky flashed as if besieged by thunder. Kerrigan screamed and almost fell, using both hands to catch the edge of the car while the rifle fell into the swirling chaos below.

"What the hell was that?" Kerrigan shrieked, lithely lowering herself back into the car and closing the door.

"I believe you would know it as a "fat falcon," Ms. Kerrigan." Samara sniffed from the backseat. "It would appear the turians are dumping their heavy infantry on to the surface. Resistance will be met first with their fire teams, and then with orbital bombardment in the form of redirected asteroids."

 _I wish I could call her crazy. Or wrong._ The earth rumbled below as the air boiled, Turian Seventh Fleet apparently eager to deploy their belligerent payloads. Kerrigan panted to Garrus's right, likely trying to come to grips with her near-death experience. _Oh, don't worry. It's healthy._ They crossed the threshold into Nos Astra, many of the skyscrapers now smoking from the beginnings of orbital bombardment. _Where is the asari fleet?_

"Garrus – I need a good shot." Garrus kept his gaze fixed on the road, but had a feeling he knew what Kerrigan was about to ask. _Right. Swap places. I can keep track of her better, anyway._

Garrus waited until he had a relatively straight line of air to cross and scooted over, passing under Kerrigan while she slid across his own frame as if greased, a strangely enticing sight. He did not linger on such thoughts however, instead flinging open the door and grabbing the stock of his gun, placing it on the roof of the car and letting it unfold. Down his scope, jerking this way and that, impossible to keep track of, flew Vasir's car, its lights shining brightly in the Illium night.

 _Steady…_

The distance closed, making Garrus suspect that Vasir's engine had indeed been damaged in the initial conflict on the ground. _Steady…_

Garrus shifted his rifle this way and that, trying to find that sweet moment when chance and skill would align to create the perfect shot, letting him further his legend as Archangel. Despite his feet skittering beneath him, despite his heart hammering at the raw _stupidity_ of what he was doing, Archangel breathed slowly. _Once. Twice._ _There's the moment._

Garrus could not hear the rifle report, but he still felt the weapon flying back into his shoulder, and the familiar satisfaction of having made a shot his father would likely have called "impossible" or "foolish." He did hear Kerrigan's muted cheer from within the car, followed by a nudge to get in the goddamn driver's seat. He did so, insides burning with pride even as his outsides chilled from the wind.

"Forced down," noted Samara with little emotion. Garrus followed her pointed finger and witnessed the trailing smoke, the indication of a damned good shot. _The legend never dies…_

"Legion, Saren, Zeratul – downed Vasir at following location, descending to intercept." Kerrigan cast Garrus a look that was one part pride and two parts … something Kerrigan had never taught him to interpret in terrans "Let's bring this bitch in."

"Alert: considerable turian presence in multiple Nos Astra districts." Legion clicked and whirred again, perhaps trying to calculate the degrees of fucked the situation was becoming even despite their recent success. "Ground forces may not take kindly to armed strangers moving fast in their midst."

"No one ever does." Kerrigan gritted her teeth, the action only becoming more violent as Vasir made a spectacular crash landing on the lowest level of Nos Astra, kicking up a terrific amount of fire and dust. "Garrus, Saren, you guys got any objection to icing any turians idiot enough to get in our way?"

"Let's try not to make a habit of it." _Innocent soldiers doing their job … but I'm not about to pretend their job is worth doing. For all the Hierarchy's plans and bluster, I really hoped it would never come to actual conquest._ Garrus braced himself for the landing.

The skycar alighted atop the lip of a smoking crater, the only stretch of land they could find that ran unsullied for more than seven feet. Samara was the first out, her sedate demeanor in the car apparently belying her intent to take Vasir down. Crossfire ripped across the streets from building to building, punching through concrete and metal alike, sullying a once beautiful city. Garrus ducked his head down, following the ladies' lead as they took cover behind a stretch of scorched wall. Loudspeakers and air sirens threatened to drown out all sound, and large silhouettes marched from alleyway to alleyway, the discharge of their chainguns painfully loud.

The crash site almost seemed inconsequential compared to the madness all around them. A small wreck amidst a field of bodies, spent shells, and tortured buildings, Vasir's skycar lay smoking and idle within a small furrow of its own making. A single broken body sat in the passenger's seat while a fresh trail of blood led to a nearby hotel.

Kerrigan was first to check the body. _Terran male. Died in impact?_

"She shot him," said Kerrigan shortly, voice carrying even in the din. "Must have been too wounded, or he became too much of a risk to keep alive."

"Another crime committed." Samara did not seem moved, yet Garrus nonetheless noted the way her hand brushed over the butt of her pistol. "Next quarry. I am pleased that you brought me along." _Even as the planet's being invaded?_

They ran up the hotel steps with their heads bowed, the blood trail thinning as they ascended. Gunshots echoed from within the building, and a glass elevator rose above them, a single slumped figure within. Asari scattered in all directions around them, three lying bloody on the floor. _Did they get in her way? A distraction? Just likes killing? What?_

They charged through the crowd together, Kerrigan shouting something incomprehensible and Legion responding with something equally incomprehensible. They crammed into the second glass elevator together and Garrus slammed his omnitool into the controls, making the elevator jerk into life and shoot up with shocking speed. _Roof level. Go._

No sooner did they pile out of the elevator than more gunshots rang out, in the direction of the rooftop pool, if the signs were accurate. Garrus drew out his assault rifle while the twin badass ladies respectively cloaked and glowed blue. _Sometimes I feel like the only normal person in the galaxy. It's rare, though._ Garrus advanced with gun at the ready while Samara pounded the earth and rounded the corner, silent yet determined.

Vasir waited at the far end of the pool area, her backdrop a red night's sky filled with objects hurtling through the heavens, destined to ruin Illium. Blood pooled at her feet, and she panted heavily, not making a move even as Samara lifted an empowered palm. She stared at them, lip curled, eyes bloodshot.

"Doesn't it feel like the end of the world?" she bellowed, her words underscored by the rattle of gunfire and the booms of distant explosions. "Imagine this – across every sky! Then a hundred times worse."

The sound of breaking glass made Garrus turn behind him. He just barely caught a glimpse of a streak of smoke before the entire building shuddered. The Hierarchy had landed one of their own directly in the lobby of the hotel.

"Are you surrendering?" Samara's voice resembled ice, smooth yet cold and unyielding. "The Code would prevent me from accepting it."

Vasir nonchalantly pointed her pistol to the side of her and took a step backwards, towards the railing and the edge of the building. "Kerrigan, don't think I can't see you, bitch. I know your style. Goddess knows we've done a few ops together. Why don't we just talk?"

Kerrigan materialized, rifle pointed squarely at Vasir's face. Vasir only smirked.

"You maimed a protoss executor and made a bad situation even worse," snarled Kerrigan while Garrus and Samara closed in. "We've got earthers on one side, abductor bastards on the other, and now turians sprinkled throughout. If nothing else, I want an explanation. Now."

"It was mandated," said Vasir, shrugging with her pistol still fixed on Kerrigan. "I had orders. They were good orders. Made sense. Got exposed to a bit of the universe I didn't know existed. Same as you. Difference is, I'm not in denial."

"She's stalling for time." Samara took another step forward. _How badly do we need her alive?_

"Not too badly," said Kerrigan. "Just for about five minutes while I dig the psi screen out of her skull with my knife and then rape her brain until it explodes."

Vasir's face twitched, and Garrus resisted the urge to do a double-take. Kerrigan offered Vasir a warm smile.

"Well. I suppose that's the way of it." All at once, Garrus, Samara, and Kerrigan fired their guns. And Vasir … Vasir blurred, and a force knocked Garrus sideways, a blue streak of light that flew over the drained pool and took up position on the opposite end. Garrus grunted as rounds slammed into his barriers, and he immediately went prone, hopefully obscured behind the set of upturned folding chairs he now found himself behind.

Kerrigan cloaked, Samara and Vasir glowed, and Garrus inched forward on his belly while the superwomen unleashed their Spirits-given gifts of biotics and psionics. _Yeah, I'll be a great Spectre so long as you make sure I don't get pitted against any other Spectres. Speaking of…_

A skycar all in black slithered through the angry heavens, its doors dented and burned, likely from some hotshot turian. _Nice ride, Saren._

Saren did not emerge from the side doors. Instead, a team of black-clad asari, humans, and batarians charged out the doors and dropped on to the roof, their weapons trained on his swiftly moving allies. _Okay, these guys I can manage._

Remaining prone, he sighted his rifle and fired three sharp bursts, punching through the barriers of a batarian and knocking him sideways. The lone terran among them was less lucky, a round shearing through his neck and leaving him gurgling on the ground.

Garrus rolled in place, fired again, and took a knee. The spec-ops bastards shouted to one another in muffled electronic voices while Garrus laid down burst after burst, quick enough to keep them retreating and returning fire only sporadically, but staggered enough that his weapon would not overheat. He activated his omnitool once and sent an overload at the sole unharmed asari, knocking her back and opening her to another sharp three rounds. He didn't get to see the result, instead rising and falling back, laying down suppressing fire on the goons as he took cover behind a thrashed looking cooking structure of some kind. As he sat, back pressed against the other side of the structure and bullets whizzing past him, Garrus looked up and saw another three jet black sky cars descending on the arena.

"Wonderful." He readied his gun and prepared to do his best to at least down one of the crafts … only for another skycar, far more damaged and haphazard looking, to cross the paths of the others, making them swerve. A silvery figure dropped from the side of the crazed sky car … a large and familiar figure. It landed with a heavy thud on top of one of the out of control spec ops cars before vanishing from view, trailing smoke. _Why not recruit Zeratul into the Spectres? Fuck it, normal aren't going to cut it anymore._ As if on cue, a grenade landed to his left, prompting a string of curses and a swift exit. _Fuck fuck fuck…_

Garrus fired his weapon as he ran and screamed, bullets punching through his barriers and into his armor, but the enemy was hurting too. He glued himself behind a wrecked support pillar alongside the wall and popped out immediately, returning fire on these bastards who, as Kerrigan had concisely put it to Vasir, were _making a bad situation worse._

Garrus overloaded shields. He dropped mines at enemy's feet and laughed as they tried to shift positions and exploded. Flash grenades detonated all over the arena. On the rooftop, three female figures danced in an absurdly quick melee, Samara and Vasir using little more than their fists and the butts of their guns, Kerrigan whipping a strange green blade about her, red hair flaring in the harsh lights of the pool. Up above, the turians of Seventh Fleet rained down hellfire and troops, heedless of the conflict raging below.

The wrecked skycar appeared again, Legion's head popping out of the side door, his single eye fixed on the battle below. His weapon reported and a spec ops' brains blew all over the umbrella fixed daintily over a folding chair near the pool. Saren slowed the skycar and let the geth get to work, shouting incoherently from his driver's seat. Another spec ops spontaneously flew in half, leaving the rest of them panicking and retreating, fodder for Garrus's hungry bullets. But of course, the advantage did not last as yet more Dark Templar crawled out of the woodwork, their glowing blades the only visible part of them as Zeratul intoned his intent to avenge Selendis, seemingly untouchable.

A pair of turian heavy infantry stood gaping at the chaos before them, their guns laid across their sides completely idle. They looked up and saw a biotic and psionic duel, looked to their left to see a cackling turian responsible for the death of a planet ferrying a geth wielding an anti-tank rifle around the hotel, straight ahead to witness a furious invisible battle, and to their right to observe Garrus, shouting obscenities and mowing down confused soldiers in black attire and of various races. Very slowly, the two retreated back inside the hotel, and Garrus quickly forgot about them.

Someone screamed from above, drawing Garrus out of his rage-fueled stupor in time to see Kerrigan falling, somehow having been caught off-balance. She landed in a heap on all fours, cloaking and charging the Dark Templar while Samara and Vasir wrestled at the edge of the roof above, their glowing fists pressed against one another. Garrus took a single moment to think before slowly reaching for his sniper rifle, dropping his assault rifle at his feet.

He took very careful aim as the two tossed and turned, very obviously exhausted, yet neither willing to be called the defeated party. Garrus, remembering his training, waited for Vasir to show her back. He fired once, aiming squarely for her lower back. _It's as nonlethal as it gets._

Vasir jerked and almost fell, only to be caught by Samara, who held her in place and kept her sliding from the roof. _Downed a Spectre by shooting her in the ass. I'm not putting this on my resume._ Garrus grunted and shifted his aim for the mess of whirling blades, gave up, and simply resumed on making the poor spec ops bastards' lives complete misery.

 _Poof._ A spray of blood and a limp corpse. _Pop._ A round through the upper sternum, punching through the lung and leaving them gasping. _Thud._ One falls from Legion's round before Garrus can even shoot them. Soon enough, the spec ops were nothing more than a mix of corpses.

 _Ah. I'm bleeding._ Garrus felt for the wound at the front of his chest, a small hole that bled profusely yet did not hurt nor appear to hinder his movement. He looked at the blue on his fingers and rubbed it together, wondering how bad the damage was before shrugging. _Maybe we can pretend I'm with the Seventh Fleet and get medical attention before anyone gets wise._ Zeratul emerged from nothing, cuts across his legs and face, cloak swirling about him.

"Brave Garrus," he said, inclining his head, "they are beaten back, though I slew only one. These Templar … their minds are unfogged, yet they do not speak to me. They only seek to hinder us."

Garrus shrugged. Saren's skycar landed atop a hill of broken tables and disgorged Legion and himself, both of them fixed on Vasir, whom Kerrigan now lowered to the ground with her psionics, a mad and bloody grin on her face.

Vasir, blood running down her back and on to the ground, glared at Kerrigan with naked defiance.

"The galaxy is hell-bent on committing suicide and this world burns around you," she spat, voice thick with pain. "And believe it or not, worse is coming. I had my orders … you don't scare me."

"I never intended to scare you, sweetie." Kerrigan produced a knife from her belt and leaned down, pressing it Vasir's crest. "It was always more about killing you."

Garrus grimaced and looked away as Vasir began to grunt, and then to scream. Something clattered against the floor, and Garrus took the most cursory of glances at Vasir and immediately regretted it, staring at his feet and trying not to vomit. Kerrigan grunted once and Garrus heard the sound of flesh tearing, could almost feel the blood welling up.

"Are such measures necessary?" asked Zeratul as Vasir began to convulse, her legs thrashing helplessly against the ground while Kerrigan pinned her, eyes shut, fingers working over the scalp that Garrus refused to look at. Without warning, the grey matter burst apart, showering Garrus's boots with red.

"I keep my promises," said Kerrigan, standing with crimson fingers dripping. "Necessary … sure? Why not. Got what we needed. Shadow Broker. No idea who he is still, but I got a location. Bastard's got all nihilistic on us."

"Shadow Broker?" asked Zeratul, making Garrus roll his eyes. Thankfully, Legion was less judgmental.

"Anonymous well-known information broker," said Legion, its own eye fixed on the carnage of Vasir's body. "No known location. Only alias is "Shadow Broker." Unknown species. Unknown agenda. If opposition, can expect strong degree of resistance."

"She resisted right up until the end," said Kerrigan, flicking her fingers and sending liquid everywhere. "Still got what we needed. Pieces coming together. Those abductor aliens … Reaper servants. Not sure what they want, Reapers or the servants, but they're trying to take advantage of the galaxy's fragility. I'm thinking killing the Broker would help hinder that a little." A noise like thunder pealed overhead. In the distance, a massive of tower broke and shattered under a sudden onslaught, collapsing under a column of rising dust. Kerrigan barely seemed to notice.

"And the Dark Templar?" Zeratul stepped toward Kerrigan, hand reaching for her shoulder.

"No idea," she said. "Just … just that they were told to assist Vasir. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"But we know the next step," said Garrus, voice sounding strained and hoarse. "All we have to do is get to the Broker … which you said you can do." The ground shuddered again. They stared up at the skies above, pondering the conflict that raged in orbit.

"Yeah." Kerrigan rubbed the back of her neck. "There's one small wrinkle in that plan right now."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Selendis**


	35. Wavering Supremacy

**Selendis**

They hanged from the branches of the stark white tree, their eyes bulging and their bodies twisting lifelessly as they swayed in the artificial breeze. Selendis stared up at the salarians, her warriors behind her shifting in place and broadcasting mixed feelings of outrage and confusion. Councilor Linron's body hung amongst the masses of the dead, her dark red ceremonial robes the only means of distinguishing her amidst the bodies. _They did not even set her aside. She hangs next to a secretary … and a soldier._

Others surrounded the tree as well, the living and dead both. A small group of hanar swayed and flashed bright colors on the other side, emitting several series of low notes that changed with the colors of their skin … or perhaps it was the other way around?

Donnel Udina, flanked by three Shadowguards on each side, watched the proceedings with folded arms, face impassive. The Shadowguards muttered to one another and occasionally glanced upwards towards the Presidium's distant ceiling, apparently reacting to the still-raging distant conflicts. C-Sec cars occasionally flew by and made everyone momentarily take their eyes off the bodies to focus on one of the few remaining indications that there was any law and order on the space station … but never for very long. And Selendis's gaze did not waver.

All around them too, the dead paid silent attendance. Turians with their aqua guts spilling on to the bright Presidium floors, likely slain by Raszagal's retinue of Dark Templar, who had disobeyed her orders and tried to stem the violence before quickly concluding it was useless in the face of the UED broadcast.

Asari, terrans, and salarians alike all lay in splayed out positions around the pavilion, their bodies riddled with tiny craters. The single corpse of an elcor, turned on its side, stood out amongst the carnage, a gaping wound on its back, now crusted over with dried blood, some which still clung to Selendis's boots. _Such madness…_

"We express our sorrow, and hopes for a swift end to this brutality." A hanar, a bright blue than the others, traversing the pavilion on its lengthy tendrils. "A song of loss … for now. Soon, it will crescendo into a cry for action. Retribution. Disunity is displeasing to the Enkindlers." The hanar flashed a faint red. _Their skin tones match their emotions just as ours do …_ The thought had not occurred to Selendis before. A strange sense of wariness set over her. She glanced at the tree and extended her will. As one, the ropes snapped and the corpses plummeted to the earth, landing amidst a chorus of gasps from the audience.

"Turian work!" Selendis called back to her followers. "Here in the Presidium, the chaos has subsided to a degree, but the wards are still in chaos. The turians have decided to take the galaxy. Do they expect us to stand here and watch?" _It is what the Judicator wanted … but now things are changing._ "Udina! Where does the Protectorate stand?"

Udina almost jumped at the sudden question, likely because he could not hear Selendis's other words to the protoss. He unfolded his arms and sucked in a deep breath.

"With the asari, who are under turian assault," he answered. "With the geth, who protected our embassy from rioters. With the protoss, and anyone else who hasn't lost their mind."

"I have seen enough on this station." Selendis turned to her warriors. "Aldaris wanted us to observe and report, and I say to him that foul madness has taken the turians, the proud warriors who earned our respect through the likes of Adrien Victus. They have decided to employ brutal methods against the galaxy … I say it is time to retaliate."

Her warriors brimmed with approval, their skin tones turning into a burnt gray, displaying a resolution to do battle. _No doubt in their minds … they trust their maimed Executor's judgment. So at least some good has come of this slaughter._

"Aldaris," she intoned, reaching out for the exhausted mind of the judicator, he who waited listlessly aboard the _Spear of Adun_ for the final verdict. "The salarian councilor is dead. The turians have turned on their allies and besiege the Citadel still. Turn loose the Praetor on these wretches, and give me the task force. We have a galaxy to defend, order to restore." _Let us hope that even with Tevos whispering in his ear, he remembers what it means to be protoss, to defend the lives of our lessers, even from their own stupidity…_

"Return immediately, but leave your warriors," replied Aldaris, his voice certain. "Fenix! Take command of our garrison. Cleanse the Citadel of all resistance and retrieve Councilor Sparatus. I have orders from the Hierarch. The galaxy must be pacified and unified." Suddenly his voice shook, a blast of unexpected rage surging into his voice that gave Selendis pause. "Zerg and Reapers press the Koprulu Sector, and still these fools cling to their hatreds? _Cleanse_ their idiocy. There will be no more hesitation or lenience. And do not feel such surprise, Executor, palpable even without the Khala linking us. My wrath is a pale shadow of Artanis's. We are to hold a summit between all spaceworthy species." _Ah. Then the galaxy will tremble._

Selendis sent the order to transport her to her carrier, her heart burning with both anger and sorrow. _Imagine how much greater the intensity would be if I still felt the Khala's warmth, rather than this pitiful imitation…_

The Citadel faded just as Fenix's voice boomed amongst the assembled warriors, his Templar robes billowing, and his shock at the sight before him permeating Selendis's mind. Their skins flashed red … and then Selendis stood at the command center of _Aiur's Fury_ , the flagship of the 3rd Battle Fleet. _Excusing the_ Spear _, of course._

"Executor." Aldaris's voice still trembled with barely suppressed outrage, his tendril of thought burning at the touch within Selendis's mind. "Mohandar is bound for salarian space while Udun presses for the batarian border. The ITSA, Terminus, and batarians will be brought to heel just as the turians are. You are to make for Illium. Bring the fighting to a close by any means necessary."

"What of Artanis?" pressed Selendis, knowing quite well that the Hierarch would never sit out something like this. "Where is 1st fleet bound?"

"Korhal," said Aldaris, making Selendis realize that even she was beginning to lose sight of some of the bigger picture. _This is just squabbling. The true battle lies with our ancient foes, the vicious zerg swarm and the enigmatic Reaper menace._ "The terrans must unify, and the Directorate has depleted Artanis's patience. Take whatever measures necessary to stop the violence. If the turians will listen to reason, then there is no cause to unleash your fury upon them. If they insist on resisting, burn them from the heavens until they see the error of their ways."

"It will be done, Executor." Selendis redirected her intent towards the blazing beacon that was Fenix. "Praetor! Remember to stay the hand when they surrender. Do not let the Khala's wrath overcome your sense of justice!"

"Justice and mercy will be meted out in equal measure," replied Fenix, voice curiously calm. "En taro Tassadar, Executor. You need not fear my temper overcoming my duty. There is far too much for us to lose."

"En taro Tassadar, Fenix." Selendis straightened and redirected her efforts to her people, her fleet, glimpsing the Khala in the process yet finding herself unable to touch it. _Like a distant sun, obscured by a layer of clouds … it does not warm me, yet still I can ascertain the shape and outline._ The Khalai greeted her with hesitation, unsure of how to react to a presence that was at once Templar … and yet not. The Dark Templar, on the other hand, no longer felt nearly as cold and unyielding, recognizing Selendis as kin and sending a shiver through her being. _It is cheering … but still unwelcome._

"The turians seek to dominate the galaxy, to express their superiority through violent conquest," boomed Selendis, sending forth the images she had seen within the Citadel – C-Sec officers turning on one another for being a different species, the bodies of countless different people of countless different races splayed out against a spreading sea of blood … a Presidium tree from which three dozen salarians hanged. "The asari capital world of Illium is among their key targets. It is there that we are bound, by duty and by rage. The turians will be brought in line. En taro Adun."

"En taro Adun!" Only the Khalai responded with the traditional cry, but all began making preparations for the jump. Carriers and Tempests alike detached from the _Spear of Adun_ , corsairs, scouts, and phoenixes swarming about them. Void rays likewise fell in formation, trailing behind the carriers and tempests, their twin crews of High and Dark Templar resolute in their desire to bring swift end to the turians' imperial ambitions.

The _Spear_ remained in place while the 3rd Battle Fleet prepared for a long jump. _No one has dared to engage that ship yet. May it remain so … countless alien ships now huddle within it. I could not help but notice a certain asari diplomatic vessel among them…_

There was no time for such thoughts at that moment. The captains called out their readiness from across the void, their voices rebounding across the khaydarin crystals. Selendis readied herself for the warp. _Did Tevos come from Illium? I suppose I shall finally see what an asari world looks like._ _Only survivors from the Expeditionary Fleet have ever seen one before, and Thessia was already mostly infested by the time of their arrival…_

"Adun watch over you, Executor." Razagal's voice, warmer than Selendis was used to hearing. "Strike them down if they resist you…" _That was indeed the plan._

Light flooded _Aiur's Fury_ as the jump began. Selendis, blinking from the light of the warp, stared steadfastly at her instruments, making sure that all other vessels stayed with the fleet, keeping an eye out if anyone had suffered some kind of mechanical failure. To her satisfaction, all signatures remained steady. Selendis sighed and closed her eyes fully, embracing the silence and energy of the enigmatic plane they used to travel. _At least losing the Khala has not deprived me of this sensation…_

As always, the experience ended all too quickly, even if the jump was indeed longer than any other that Selendis had experienced other than the one from Aiur to the Citadel. The universe snapped back into place, leaving Selendis confronted with a nightmare.

Illium burned, its green countryside and violet cities now afire with the blaze of orange; fear, panic, and rage surged through the void and made Selendis bow her head in sorrow, if only for a moment. Righteous anger soon supplanted it.

The asari vessels engaged a quarter of the turian fleet from the planet's surface, the outcome of that battle uncertain. Another quarter of the turian fleet remained close to the relay, the wreckage of comm buoys scattered close by. The rest remained in orbit of Illium, their payloads gleaming in the light of the sun as they streamed down to the surface, a ceaseless barrage of noise and pain.

"Open up a line of communication with the turians." Selendis watched the helmsman comply, remembering a time when she would have been able to _feel_ his actions, rather than simply observe them. _This could be the first battle since I have been severed from the Khala. How will it feel? Will it hurt less, if any of our ships are lost?_

A viewscreen lowered from above, a turian's visage visible on the other side. His face did not feature any of the markings Selendis knew was customary for their species, and his blue armor did not appear any more or less ornate than any turian soldiers Selendis had ever seen. Nevertheless, Selendis recognized the familiar sense of authority emanating from the figure; he surveyed the protoss with weariness and a small amount of fear … yet the greatest emotion Selendis could sense was simple and unwavering _resolve._

"Executor Selendis," he said, inclining his head and impressing the Executor immediately. _If nothing else, he knew who I was the minute he saw me. I may stand out as one of the few female protoss warriors the lesser races have ever seen … but how common is knowledge of my name and station?_ "We expected you. I am General Desolas Arterius. I suspect you are familiar with my brother. What is your purpose here?"

"Let us skip the empty formalities, General." Heat began to radiate off Selendis, her former positive feelings towards the general dissolving when she glanced to another monitor and saw Illium burning again. "The turians have no right to enforce their will and their empire on other species. These are your allies, and there are far worse things lurking in the stars. Look to Korhal, and tell me this is not a grievous waste of your strength. Cease fire, and return home. Our Hierarch is calling for a summit between the species." The general did not blink.

"I am afraid that you mistake our intentions as blatant ambition, Executor," Desolas said, his tone resigned. "This is a punitive action being carried out for the folly of the salarians. No less than nine separate strikes occurred against our space once the Waygates fell, with a further thirteen once we saw the broadcast from Korhal. The ITSA, the asari, the salarians, even the volus … all must be pacified for the safety of our species." His eyes flicked out of view, staring at some unseen monitor. "And … forgive me for saying this … what right do you have to enforce the will of your own empire? Our goals align here; the salarians and their allies are convinced that we are the greater threat, and that we arm ourselves for the inevitable conflict against them. I will not deny some level of truth in that, but Korhal confirmed our suspicions. Our actions are justified." He paused, taking in a deep breath. "The bomb going off at the Victus memorial statue on Palaven … a desperate attempt on the life of our Primarch … was, as the terrans say, the last straw."

Selendis's hearts slowed as steady crimson wrath threatened to take hold. _I sense truth. They would dare … they would dare_ _to defile the memory of blessed Victus, he who stood with Tassadar in his final moments?_

"You have opened fire on civilians and hanged the salarian councilor," replied Selendis slowly, trying to ignore the shock and outrage spreading through her fleet, to resist the urge to disobey or at least reevaluate her orders. "You waste your strength against your allies. You should have come to us."

"Forgive me again, Executor, but the protoss have proven ill-equipped to deal with the complexities of Citadel politics, particularly in times as turbulent as these." General Desolas stood up straight, his arms held behind his back. "If you will leave us to engage our foes for but a few more months, perhaps a year or two, and then return? It will be to a much simplified galaxy. But … we both know that our duty is paramount. You must try to drive me from Illium, and I must resist you."

"You will not surrender?" asked Selendis, trying to contain her dismay and her confusion. _Focus on the tree, on the massed bodies. It is so simple … the Reapers are the enemy. The zerg are the enemy. For the moment, Desolas might become your enemy. If only for the moment._ "Think of the lives of your men, General."

"I can no more defy my Primarch than you can defy Artanis, Executor." Desolas sucked in a deep breath. "We have long prepared for this moment, dreadful as it is. There is nothing more to say. Advance, and you will suffer under the full extent of the Turian Hierarchy's displeasure."

Selendis's skin flashed red for a moment, but she contained the anger quickly enough. Her skin returned to a resolute lilac.

"We have experienced it before, General." She stared directly into his eyes, her damaged nerve cords sparking and twitching against the back of her neck. "As I recall, we found it lacking."

"So be it, then."

The screen winked out, and the turian fleet above Illium ceased fire almost immediately, turning instead to face the inevitable onslaught of the Firstborn's wrath.

"Second and Fourth squadrons, reposition directly beneath the Hierarchy's ships." Selendis checked on the other two sections of the turian fleets and found them still motionless, guarding the relay and engaging the asari vessels respectively. _We'll leave them, for now._ Selendis ordered her own ships forward, prepping all carriers and Tempests to begin unleashing their deadly payloads. Though Selendis could no longer sense the Khala, she could nevertheless feel the anticipation and battle lust seeping through the ship; the Khalai were eager to engage the turians once again. From the Nerazim came only cool acceptance, a firm resoluteness.

"All corsair and scout units attaching to Second and Fourth." The helmsman's hands danced across instruments, his mind reaching out to check with other captains and align with their purpose. _It is strange. I could no longer do his job if I had to. If I were not so high-ranking already … I would be forced to join the Nerazim, I suppose._ "Carriers are prepped. We are screening the void rays." The helmsman paused. "Executor – barely any of these turian ships bear the same signature of those we encountered in the Great War. They appear to have exchanged mass accelerator weapons for … something else." He briefly returned to his instruments. "Tempests are opening fire; Second and Fourth have repositioned. Their warp cores will now require an hour or so to cool down; they are committed."

"Send forth the interceptors." Selendis examined the sudden contact with mixed interest and a strange amount of anxiety. _We have crushed them before without issue … and yet they do not fear us as they should. Are they truly that arrogant? Or … is there something we're missing here? What are these weapons of theirs?_

"They have unleashed fighters," called out the helmsman. "A sizeable portion of their defending fleet is redirecting to deal with Second and Fourth … extensive casualties already. The relay section is now advancing behind us."

"Third and Ninth, hold off the relay force." _We are heavily outnumbered … if they have found some way to equalize force … but no. Second and Fourth are already tearing them apart._

"We cannot yet open fire on their dreadnoughts – frigates and cruisers and screening their movements." The helmsman remained a flurry of activity, both inside and out. "Our own fighters are noting an unusual amount of strain on their shields. The turians have improved their weaponry."

"As have we. Our Tempests continue to make short work of them. Hold here." The fleet advance halted while the interceptors and Tempest rounds continued to make their deadly course through the stars, spelling death for the unfortunate vessel they focused upon. Third and Ninth turned in place, unleashing their own lethal barrages on the relay section that had so foolishly attempted a pincer movement. _I would feel more comfortable if we had brought a mothership, or if the judicators had seen fit to spare some of their precious arbiters … but the former are in short supply, and the latter are impossible to coerce into battle these days._

"We are now in range of dreadnought fire," called out the helmsman. "Yet they continue to advance? I was told that the turians would begin to engage at this range."

Selendis watched the readouts carefully. A Second Squadron carrier went dark. Then another one. _Is that … is that a glitch? No._

"Second Squadron – report!"

"They're everywhere!" shouted back Jerailus, commander of the _Daelaam's Promise._ "We have killed scores of them, but their weapons are more than pinpricks … Executor, we cannot retreat! We will inflict as much damage as we can!"

"En taro Tassadar, Jerailus." Selendis drummed her fingers against the console in front of her. _So … we may experience some casualties. It matters not. I will not be so aggressive in the future._ "All ships, remain out of knife-fighting range with the turians and stick close to formation. Their new weaponry is unforgiving, it seems."

"Still have good effect on cruisers and frigates." The helmsman sounded fevered now, fully engaged as if the zerg themselves bore upon them. "Interceptors are engaging … yet they do not slow. And our interceptors take casualties! Executor … all of their ships bear this new weaponry. Hah! Executor, they outnumber us more than eight to one! This will be a battle worth remembering."

"Second is gone," said Selendis, watching as Fourth poised to join their fate while the corsairs, scouts, and phoenixes continued to dance with the turians. _Locked down, for the time being. At least the corsairs and phoenixes have the speed to disengage._ "Brace for their fighters."

"Plasma shields are at full charge; we are bound by the Khala."

"Phase crystals aligned and prepared," intoned the deep voice of the void ray commander Nelar, his mind filled with purpose. "For the first time in history, Nerazim vessels exchange fire with those of the lesser races." _We do not know that for sure. Others may have already done so at Kar'Shan, at Sur'Kesh, perhaps even Korhal. The terrans fear us an inordinate amount._

"The cruisers and frigates are parting in preparation for the dreadnoughts!" The helmsman laughed.

"Void rays, focus fire on dreadnoughts and anything in the path to the dreadnoughts." Selendis drummed her fingers again, leaning forward and examining the displays with both interest and anxiety. _Control it … but it is so difficult with such responsibilities, and without the Khala to fall back on!_ "Tempests, wait for the opening and take out the dreadnoughts."

The formation spread like a petal, frigates and cruisers directing their courses above, below, and to either side of the protoss position. Their ships winked out of existence as interceptors and tempests continued to make short work of their kinetic barriers and hulls … but the tempests fired too slowly, and the interceptors suffered under the strange onslaught of new turian weapons. _And now, both sides can unleash their full potential on one another._

"Rear turian section is engaging Third and Ninth, Executor," reported the helmsman. "And now…"

The dreadnoughts emerged from the petal, surging from the middle. One smoked and wavered from a tempest strike, but the other four remained steady. Selendis could sense the mind of Desolas in the mix, his own anxiety, fear, and shame…

"Executor-"

The ship shook, khaydarin crystals flaring. Templar all around her cried out, and Selendis's instruments cut out briefly before surging with life, all blazing with fresh damage reports from far too many ships. The dreadnoughts did not bear mass accelerators either, instead firing something new, something terrible. _That's why they did not fire … they were not in range yet, for these new weapons._

Streams of strange energy streamed from the ships, some of them outright missing and fading into nothing within the emptiness, while others scorched the shields of the 3rd Battle Fleet with unprecedented power for a lesser species.

"Focus all firepower on their dreadnoughts!" bellowed Selendis, slamming a fist against the console. _Retreat? No … what message does that send? Remind these creatures of their place. If we cannot outgun them without hideous casualties…_ "All remaining ships, execute jump at these coordinates – find room and finish the dreadnoughts!" Selendis tapped the points, the vast empty spaces between the vast ships, knowing that they would be amidst the angry frigates and cruisers. _Even if we fail here, the geth will buffer our numbers against these upstarts, and our Arkships remain unmatched … Aldaris, I hope I do not fail you._

The jump began immediately, impressing Selendis with the speed at which they all determined their place, particularly with the Dark Templar being unable to access the Khala. _They know that it is necessary._ The instruments howled as _Aiur's Fury's_ shields depleted with alarming speed, her hull soon to be exposed to the blistering firepower of the turians. She closed her eyes and relished the three seconds or so of beautiful emptiness … before snapping back to grim reality.

"Engage!"

The turians, unprepared for the sudden jump, turned their cumbersome dreadnoughts towards them, but the void rays had cleverly surrounded their ships. The twin energies of the Khala and Void seared forth from the prismatic core, shattering the barriers instantly and running along the length of each dreadnought, the crew inside expelling shock and dismay as their ship shuddered and broke apart.

The carriers sent out their second wave of interceptors, the previous wave having detonated when they warped. Tempests fired into the mess as best they could, well aware of how many smaller, more agile ships surrounded them. It would not be long before the turians killed them with simple numbers, their smaller craft bringing outrageous firepower for their size.

"Their ships crumble, but we remain far too outnumbered." Selendis closed her eyes, knowing she would not go to the Khala upon her death. _The emptiness beckons … how do the Nerazim … how does anyone stand it?_ "Leave nothing more than a handful of ships, filled with hollow survivors." _They will not have enough of a fleet left to threaten this world at least. And Artanis will not underestimate them again._ _General Desolas? Do you still live? Do you hear me? If you insist that you are not children playing with the cosmos's tools, then you will be treated as an adult. An equal. We will not hold back. Palaven will burn, if need be._

"Activity near the relay." The helmsman buckled as the ship shook, its shields finally shattered. "Redirecting interceptors to turian ships that have an appropriate assault vector. All dreadnoughts neutralized."

Selendis watched the relay with mild interest, continually returning her gaze to her own beautiful fleet as the ships slowly winked out, one by one. _The Tempests first, it seems. Understandable. They were not made for this range. I suppose Arbiters and Motherships will now be required attachments for all fleets, to ensure this does not happen again … Adun forbid we bring the Arkships to bear on Palaven._

The instruments winked out again, making Selendis brace for some massive hull breach. Instead, when the screens reappeared, they revealed a new series of ships, some familiar and some unfamiliar, all proceeding from the relay and making a beeline for the combat.

"Turian bastards!" screamed a familiar voice on their channel, a visor-covered head appearing in the view screen. "Impudent bosh'tets! Fuck with our protoss, will you?"

"Han'Gerrel?" Shock rode through the Khala all around her, and through Selendis as well, blessed relief and confusion mixing together into a heady concoction. "And … terran vessels? How did you…?"

A terran female's visage appeared on the viewscreen next to his.

"Admiral Rafaela Gomulka, Umojan Protectorate." She inclined her head. "Apologies for the late arrival, but we needed confirmation that the relay was clear and we could conduct a pincer movement. It is a pleasure to finally see a protoss, face to face."

Shock now stormed through the turian fleet survivors, running through the ships, through the escape pods, even touching on the planet far below. Selendis's ship shook again but she barely noticed, gaze fixed on the approaching relief. _Saved … by lesser species._

"Just because we're sick of being housemates, doesn't mean we've forgotten your kindness." Han'Gerrel presented a clenched fist. "Alright? This is for you, for Artanis, for Fenix, for Razagal and Zeratul. All of you. Not gonna let you die. You turians want to surrender yet?"

A large ship at the center of the massive allied quarian/Umojan formation unleashed a vast beam of energy. Frigates and cruisers boiled together as the beam fused the metal together and punched a hole all the way through them. _So. This is what the lesser races have been doing while we fought our civil war. Advancing. Learning. We have become too self-assured in our superiority._

A third head appeared on the viewscreen, a turian enclosed in a full body suit, a gaping hole that opened into space visible behind him.

"My orders stand," Desolas said, no anger or resentment coming from him at all, his voice harsh and afflicted by static through the helmet. "We are presented with overwhelming force and have taken over 55% casualties. We offer an unconditional surrender."

"Cease fire." Selendis gave the order without hesitation. In a way, it was almost madness that everyone, having previously been hellbent on killing one another, just stopped struggling immediately, the orders ending the struggle. She stared at Desolas, not sure whether to curse the turian or commend him. She settled for neither.

"All turian vessels are to be taken into custody and escorted to the Citadel," she snapped. "Judgment will be made there. Admirals…" She turned to her allies, their arrival still inexplicable, but unbelievably welcome. "…thank you."

Reaching out, Selendis felt across the stars and sensed victory, desperate and damaged though it was. _Korhal, where the ashes had cooled before they even arrived. Sur'Kesh, where Mohandar unleashed a mothership and brought swift but painful order. Udun, who won the day through simple firepower, cleaving through terran, batarian, and Terminus ships alike until they all stopped fighting._

 _And now, all of us, converging on a single point. The Citadel. Where Artanis burns at the loss of his people, at the idiocy of these lesser … of these other sapients, and in fear._

 _Fear that it might already be too late to unify._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**


	36. The United Front

**Alexei**

 _All our strength … coming to nothing._

Half of Alexei burned, a singed half that groaned with grief and rage, urged him to lash out or seek a quiet corner. His mind buzzed with plans and contingencies both old and new … all of which centered around one unchangeable and unforeseen fact. _Gerard…_

What had slain him? He had eyewitness accounts from over fifteen different people, some of whom said it was zerg, others said it was rachni. It made little difference to Alexei. It would make no difference to Helena and Gerard's children, who waited safe and ignorant back on Earth, their last memory of their father being a proud man in uniform, marching towards the future while rose petals fell from the sky…

The other half of Alexei, of course, felt cold and unyielding, thick ice standing firm against the opposition. The other half, the part of him so carefully nurtured through all of his years of UPL education and hardship, looked to his surroundings and made judgments, kept him closed off to the cowards, fools, and opportunists that milled about him, as confused and listless like a herd of sheep. _Even now … always separate._

The arrival of the protoss at Korhal brought first relief, then fear, then resignation. The various insect races that had decided to spontaneously plague them were already beginning to scatter; the zerg and rachni had fled almost immediately, while the … others … left a while later, leaving a horrifying slew of MIA reports in the sections of Augustgrad they had hit hardest. _Here to harvest. Or rather, to reap. It does not take a genius to realize who is behind this attack, even if the motive is unclear. We have lagged too long. And now … and now the protoss drag everyone to Aiur._

Half of Alexei did not care. Gerard had died. They could not locate the body of Valerian Mengsk. A large portion of the Dominion Navy remained intact and independent under General Warfield. _And they ordered us home._ Alexei's gloved hands trembled. _That may no longer be possible. And … and I certainly have no desire to return. To Helena. To the waiting arms of SAC sympathizers._

Alexei took a deep breath, and let the other half take over. He stood in a protoss nexus, this much he understood, surrounded by a dizzying mix of other races, all of whom gathered in their little allied cliques while armored protoss watched them mill about from each corner. Light streamed in from the concave roof above, casting illumination on the bright green trees and other assorted foliage that dotted the interior of the structure in little rows. Alexei could see no exit or entrance. Thick walls occasionally protruded from the otherwise square foundations, from which the faint sounds of footsteps could be heard, but no doors broke their smooth surface. When more people arrived, be they protoss or otherwise, it was in a flash of light from within the nexus. _No one is leaving without the protoss say so._

"We stand on Aiur," said a quarian loudly to Alexei's right, speaking to Donnel Udina, who leaned against a cane with one hand and wiped his brow with the other. "Do not fear. It is not the Umojans who frustrate the protoss."

The turians all stood off to one side, sullen, a few volus scattered through their number. The salarians occupied the other side opposite, leaning against a wall and speaking furiously, their gestures animated and quick. As Alexei watched, one of them actually struck another across the face, leading to a quick series of blows that ended with one salarian on the floor with blood on his lip, the other offering a quickly accepted hand. _Strange creatures._

Batarians and quarians alone seemed content to wander from place to place, speaking to representatives of other races and offering updates and occasional consolation. The batarians seemed more at home amongst the colonials, with several hanging about Warfield and the small Morian congregation, while the quarians spoke mainly to asari or even to the protoss guards, who offered no audible response.

Alexei, of course, stood alone. The other human representatives saw his uniform and his hat, and kept well clear. The aliens saw no need to speak to him. He simply watched from his corner, the cold and the heat battling for dominance within his head and chest, watching as everyone else got about their business as they always had. _Unimportant. Lost. Alone._ Gerard was dead. He was, to some degree, a prisoner of aliens. As far as he was concerned, as far as the Directors back home would be concerned, he had failed. _So … this is failure. Something … something may yet be salvaged._

 _But not Gerard. And one of the main points of this exercise was making sure he got home. So … what is left to fight for?_

A commotion erupted from the center of the nexus, the ITSA and elcor delegates scattering as tall figures erupted out of nothing, blazing light leaping from their silhouettes. Alexei watched, gloved hands limp at his sides, as the lights faded. A towering golden figure now stood at the center of the nexus, his armor gleaming resplendently in the sunlight, his overwhelming radiance a key indicator of who he was.

 _And the red skin … the protoss do enjoy broadcasting their emotions, don't they?_

The figure, whom Alexei suspected was the protoss Hierarch, Artanis, turned slowly throughout the room, his blazing eyes making some step back, others actively shake. A Dark Templar stood at either side of him, one male and imposing, the other female and older, hunched where the other stood straight.

While Artanis took in his surroundings and slowly turned ever more crimson, more figures appeared out of thin air, all of them protoss. One almost seemed to land with an audible thud, his figure and bearing far larger than any others in the room, undisguised by the robes he wore. One bore Templar armor yet lacked nerve cords; her intricate gold and silver armor nevertheless marked her as someone of import. And of course, the protoss councilor appeared, the one known as Aldaris, clad in simple robes and bearing a small circlet atop his head, as if this were some kind of alien medieval court. _Well … get on with it._

"I am Artanis, Hierarch of the Daelaam Protectorate," boomed the protoss, silencing all remaining sound in the room. He surveyed his surroundings once more, gaze temporarily linking with Alexei's. To his surprise, he felt a small prod of acknowledgement, with little anger to be felt in it. _Only … wariness. Perhaps … perhaps there is still some chance here._

"This is a grim hour," called out Artanis, his voice rattling through the minds of the galaxy's foremost politicians and military commanders who could be abducted in a hurry. "An hour of war, in which those to whom the galaxy has entrusted their lives and their faith have been robbed of both. An hour in which the true enemy has finally revealed itself to us in full … only to leave, chuckling, as no one could answer the call to repel them. Salarians clash against turians, batarians against terrans, and of course the terrans war against themselves as always. Zerg, rachni, and Reapers alike descend upon worlds torn by battle and feast without any resistance to be seen." Artanis paused, his gaze fastening first upon the turians, and then the salarians. "And when we step in to clean up your messes, to fulfil the tenets of the Dae'uhl that urge us not to exterminate you out of hand 'ere you become a nuisance, you strike against us. A bold move, for insects."

No one moved. Some of the turians turned to one another and one said something, but Alexei was too far away, and he could not read alien facial expressions. This left only Artanis, whose lack of mouth and full body armor did little to dim the impression of boiling rage.

"We have tried for a light hand," he continued, walking forward now amongst the lesser races, who parted before him as if impelled by some hidden force. "You were granted your freedoms, warned to ready yourselves and cease your conflicts. Our religion and our nature forbid anything more; we are not your shepherds or your guardians, only your friends and sometimes your stewards. We did not require your love or your thanks, only some degree of obedience and respect. Clearly, we expected too much of you."

Artanis stopped before the turians, who did not back down in his face, staring back at him with their backs straight.

"Who are you, who would disturb galactic peace like this?" asked Artanis, each syllable reverberating through Alexei's skull and sending a primal shiver down his spine. _The turian species hangs in the balance…_

"Guardians," said Sparatus, stepping forward. "We did not strike the first blow. Only the last. Korhal spelled out to us just what we were up against. Outer colonies now reach for the Hierarchy's protection. The turians stand ready against the zerg and Reaper onslaught." He shot a glance at the salarians. "We would be happy to be done with this."

Artanis stared at Sparatus for several long, desperately uncomfortable moments. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"Your people struck down many of our vessels today," he said, anger still snaking through his tone. "It is fortunate I detect no falsehood in your tone. Know that the next time your people stand against us will be the last, regardless of circumstance. Let this be our final warning."

"We will bear it in mind." Sparatus watched Artanis depart without blinking, arms folded behind his back. Artanis now strode to the salarians, who scrambled to present a straight line before him, a small male salarian standing at the front.

"Valern," said Artanis, inclining his head. "I am told that you are now retired."

"We refused to part with any of our dalatrasses, and Councilor Linron is dead." Valern stared meaningfully for a few moments behind Artanis, at the turians on the other side of the room. "Slain by the turians. I volunteered, on the basis of having met you once before."

"It is fortunate that I remember the salarians fondly for their fleet actions over Thessia," replied Artanis, tone nevertheless still dangerously low. "Speak – did you strike first?"

"Of course, always," said Valern, causing murmurs and a few harsh barks of laughter to ripple through the room. "We determined it to be the optimum time for the turians to strike – so we pre-empted them. Insufficient damage to stop them, as you might have noticed, but not for lack of trying. Everything indicated an imminent turian strike. I apologize if we were wrong." Valern shrugged. "So – warp in, kill us all, and leave?"

"What good would that do?" snapped Artanis, taking a large step in Valern's direction, causing him to backpedal. "Each ship is needed. Each leader is needed. Punishment will only be levied on the stupid and the unrepentant. You will receive the same warning as Sparatus, salarian. Know that no number of tricks or first strikes will spare you from the fury of the Firstborn. You will channel your talents in a manner I find productive, or you will be removed from the equation entire."

Valern nodded, backing away with his hands raised. "Of course. Of course."

"My due thanks to the asari, quarian, and Umojan peoples," boomed Artanis, turning on Udina and the aliens surrounding him. _Race traitor._ "Their actions spared the life of my Executor. For this reason, as well as retaining the same level of logic and reason that I would expect of any sapient, you will be spared the coming penalties."

 _Wonderful._ This created quite a stir, and one colonial from the ITSA assembly even gave a choked shout. Udina only sputtered and nodded, leaning hard on his cane, while Alexei watched Artanis descend on the batarians.

"Hierarch." The lead batarian, clad in robes of mixed black, green, and gold, spoke without fear. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Anto – I have heard much about your people that fills me with displeasure," replied Artanis, the rage turning cold. "Piracy and slavery will have no place in this new order. Your people will have to adapt quickly, or be set upon by the Daelaam. I acknowledge that, at the very least, your recent military actions were in defense of others, and are to be lauded, but I cannot condone the Hegemony as it stands."

Anto paused, looked back to the assortment of robed batarians behind him, and laughed openly.

"You can break our economy and caste system, so long as you promise to fix it again."

The batarians behind Anto advanced, snarling, only to stop with choked gasps as an unseen force froze them in place. Anto produced a blade from within his own robes, turning on his compatriots with another chuckle.

"These are the ones that will not comply to the new order," he said, casting a glance back at Artanis. "The penalty is traditionally death."

"You will spill no blood in this nexus," commanded Artanis, causing Anto to shrug and hide the dagger again within his robes. "Kaldalis! Remove these scum." A protoss warrior strode towards the assorted frozen batarians before vanishing in a flash of light, leaving no trace of them behind. _Remove can mean a few different things. I am wondering which it was in this case._ Artanis stared at Anto, eyes burning.

"There will be others," warned the batarian. "I would suggest a garrison. KMs can't drag us into the light anymore, so I'll leave it to you." He inclined his head. "It is a pleasure to meet you again, Artanis."

Artanis lingered there for a moment longer before turning, this time upon the ITSA colonials and their bastard elcor allies. He stood taller even than the quadruped freaks, and his armor likely even meant he out-massed them.

"You strike against the batarians even when there is no evidence that they are your tormenters." A blunt statement, hanging heavy in the air. "In all of our years of observing the nascent ITSA government, we have never seen you as anything save agitators. Your acceptance of asari and elcor is commendable, as is your affiliation with Jim Raynor, but you are a volatile element in a volatile galaxy."

"Says the child snatcher." The room seemed to darken. All went still. A colonial stood alone, a steadily widening circle around him. Artanis's skin darkened, just a hair of a shade. The colonial only raised his hands and gave a harsh bark of laughter. "What? We've seen these protoss at it? They showed us!" The ITSA idiot pointed a thick finger at Alexei. "Those ones! The Earth bastards! We've seen you at it. Protoss everywhere, killing each other, killing innocents, abducting us … for what? Can't you see what this is the beginning of? We fight, and they're afraid of losing cont-"

A dull crack echoed through the nexus as the colonial's head turned all of the way around. A muffled gasp issued from his lips as he fell, twitching, his body trying to make sense of the broken neck before slowly realizing it was time to shut down. _Say good night._ No one dared move.

"Let me make this clear:" said Artanis, each word seared into the forefront of Alexei's mind, a blazing brand against his brain. "Regardless of our intentions, which we have assured you all from the beginning are benevolent, we are out of patience. Resistance will be met with annihilation. Suspicion will be met with annihilation. Noncompliance will be met with annihilation." The colonial twitched and finally fell still, a mangled death rattle forcing its way from his wayward jaw. "There is no longer any room for restraint on our part. Until the Reapers are gone, anything goes. For their impertinence and warlike behavior, the ITSA is now a client species under the Daelaam Protectorate. Your worlds will be garrisoned. Remember what our policy on resistance is."

 _And not a sound from the so-called champions of terran freedom._ Alexei licked his dried lips, waiting for the moment Artanis would turn to him, what verdict he would render. _I care not for the result. I should be outraged that an alien species has placed humans under their explicit control, but frankly I am only amused. Gerard is dead. The rest is … details._

Artanis met Alexei's gaze again and marched towards him, filling Alexei's vision with gold. He stared up at the burning alien eyes of the protoss.

"Your name." Artanis's voice rang out. All eyes were on the two of them. "Now."

"I am Vice-" Alexei paused, realizing that he was no longer the Vice Admiral. A choked gasp escaped his throat, unexpected and unwanted. He held up a finger and internally begged the protoss's forgiveness, his vision swimming slightly. "Pardon. I am Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate." He looked past Artanis, at the wide eyes of colonials and aliens alike. "A pleasure to meet you all."

"We have watched your progress with interest, human." Alexei had to crane his neck up slightly to match Artanis's merciless gaze. "We would hold more hostility for your nation had you not arrived during an already present terran war. We hoped you would establish swift order and unity among the terran peoples. We are losing patience. We see only chaos and destruction."

"Mengsk is dead," replied Alexei, voice hoarse, gloved hand tapping against his thigh. "We encountered unexpected difficulties as the Waygates exploded and various alien threats attacked Korhal. I have no quarrel with you. Permit me to consolidate control from what is left … and you will have the bulk of our people backing you against the Reapers."

 _Is this a promise?_ Alexei almost panicked at Artanis's probe, but he felt no wayward presence within his mind, it was only a simple message. _Well, protoss, you would be surprised, but I am quite willing to put aside any number of personal ambitions until the Reapers are dealt with. I am not a fool._

Artanis watched him carefully, and Alexei squinted in slight pain as he felt a heated bore press against his forehead, a proper test of his mental constitution. It faded quickly, however.

"We need proper representatives from your people." Artanis took a step forward. "We need the coordinates for Earth."

"You cannot have it." Alexei spread his arms out in an almighty shrug. "Kill me if you must, or render me brain damaged, but the knowledge of Earth's location is one of our few defenses against the likes of the zerg or Reapers. The bulk of her fleets are already at your disposal, in any case."

Artanis reached down and grabbed Alexei by the chin, his golden gauntlet feeling cold against his skin. He tilted Alexei's head up, bringing their faces close together. The probe came again, but this time Alexei met it with the half of him made of ice, presenting only unyielding cold. Unwavering resolve. _There is little left for me to care about, protoss, but I have always known my duty. You can force Earth's location from me, but it will buy you only grief._

Artanis released Alexei's head and straightened immediately, reassuming his imperious position above Alexei.

"You promise us your full aid against the Reapers?"

"For as long as you will need it." Alexei coughed and also straightened, jolting his hat back into place and positioning his arms behind his back. "Give us time to consolidate control over Dominion and KMC space. We will leave all other space alone." He extended that thought to Artanis, letting him know of his honest intentions. _Of course … the minute the Reapers are dealt with…_

"Then it seems the entirety of the Koprulu Sector is to be free of penalization," declared Artanis. "Would that all sapients could rally themselves to such a degree as the proud terrans, geth, batarians, asari, and quarians." Artanis surveyed the room, slowly turning his head. "As of this moment, the galaxy is under effective martial law. All military movements within salarian, turian, volus, and ITSA space must be cleared with the Daelaam Protectorate. The Citadel and all capital worlds of offending planets will be garrisoned. Combined geth and protoss fleets will now patrol all of known penalized space for zerg and Reaper incursions. Our patience is depleted. So begins our vigil against the darkness."

Alexei expected shouts, screams, some form of outrage. But nothing happened. Everyone just seemed to accept the new status quo. _Oh, the protoss control everything now. Okay._ Perhaps resentment simmered from the turians or salarians, but Alexei could not detect it. _Not until I familiarize myself with the movements of their faces, of the motion of their bodies._

"There will be no further second chances." Artanis stepped into the center of the nexus again, the sunlight casting a brilliant nimbus from his armor. "Aldaris! You are now high councilor of the Citadel. The lesser races answer to you." Aldaris inclined his head. "You will all be returned to your seats of power. Anto, we will take measure to secure you against exterior threats and begin purging the aspects of your culture we find distasteful." _Now, when I say things like that, they call me a crazed perpetrator of genocide …_ Alexei chuckled at this, but could not help but notice the way Anto's eyes lit up, the total lack of fear or hate. _He led one revolution in his favor. Why not another?_

Alexei turned his head as the crowd slowly crawled back into motion, sluggish and furtive as it was. Someone, a man in a white suit, approached him.

"Donovan Hock," he said, extending his hand, which Alexei took without hesitation. "What's left of the Kel-Morian Combine. Still in control of most of the security forces. I do believe we can do business together."

 _Do you now? As I recall, it was your "business" that resulted in the destruction of the Waygates. And I've had to deploy Anderson against you once already …_ He scanned Hock's face, noting the smoothness, the total lack of hairs, the cocksure sleazy grin. _He believes himself a clever man. He presents this belief openly. This will not be difficult._

"Indeed," replied Alexei, shaking the hand once before releasing it. "Perhaps we should return to the Sector together? I can break out some wine from Earth … and we can discuss the way of things."

Hock nodded happily, before waving over another colonial, darker skinned, a trimmed black beard upon his face. He approached Alexei far more cautiously.

"Elias Kelham," said Hock, waving him over vigorously before stepping backwards, arm outstretched, as if presenting a prized student or pet. "The other half of the Morian security forces … well, not quite true, but the two of us together represent a majority. Here he was worried he would be stuck on Omega, but now you have a free trip home!" Hock chuckled. "Alexei believes we can do business … the KMC might survive under the UED after all!"

Alexei and Elias stared at each other, unsmiling. Kelham also wore a white suit, but it was far less conspicuous than Hock's; Kelham's suit possessed a more tan tone and was a simple two piece compared to Hock's … _how many pieces is that?_ Hock wore a tie and a smug grin, Kelham did not. Neither extended a hand. Hock's eyes flitted between them, trying to figure out what went wrong.

"I would advise you come back to Omega with me, Donovan," said Kelham, not turning away. "I don't think you will find UED business to your taste … at all."

"Nonsense – we're all friends here, united under the protoss!" Hock reached out for each of their shoulders, only to be shrugged off. "Er … right?"

"This man is friends with no one," replied Kelham, taking a step back, eyes on Alexei's own. Alexei offered him a small smile. "Donovan – I recommend leaving the Koprulu Sector behind. We will be far better cared for … away from the UED." _Yes … he believes the protoss have erred. They do not gaze too deeply into alien affairs, it seems. They are concerned only when we kill each other with sticks and fire … they do not see the slower, smaller deaths. They do not understand them._

"And I respectfully disagree – I will not forfeit my position on your suspicions alone!" Hock smiled brightly at Alexei. "The UED have proven themselves leal friends and stout allies to the KMC and her allies. And they are pledged under the protoss…"

"It's your funeral." Kelham retreated with a contemptuous backward wave, disappearing into the crowd of politicians huddled around the center of the nexus. Light leapt from it, and the crowd fell inward again. _Onward. To a new order. Heh._

"Shall we?" Alexei gestured forward, before remembering. "Just a moment."

He caught the broad-shouldered general at the edges of the crowd, staring at his hands and muttering. Warfield glowered at Alexei as he turned, his heavily lined face catching fire upon sighting Alexei's face.

"I don't know how you fooled the protoss, but you are not fooling me," spat the general, folding his heavily muscled arms. "Consolidate … we both know what that means."

"I need you," said Alexei. Warfield cocked an eyebrow. "What's left of the Dominion, it needs a hero. In the wake of Korhal, of the uncovering of Tarsonis, it needs a man whose hands are clean of such affairs. For the sake of the Dominion's people, if not the Dominion itself, I need your support, and I will go to whatever lengths possible to get it. When we return … after I have spoken to Hock … I would like to come up with something acceptable to both parties."

Warfield opened his mouth and closed it again. He turned in confusion to the crowd behind him, as if checking if there was someone to turn to for support, but there was nothing. He threw up his hands in anger and frustration.

"Alright!" Warfield coughed, and then controlled himself, lowering his voice and his arms. "Alright. But!" He held up a finger. "I seen them casualty reports. You haven't found Valerian. The minute he gets turned up alive, he's the one I listen to. That ain't gonna change. Got it? If he lives, the Dominion lives. But until then…" _Well. I suppose that will be another thing to add to the list._

"I will contact you when I am ready." Alexei tipped his hat. _One of the few colonials I cannot afford to kill._ Warfield shrugged irritably and disappeared into the crowd. Alexei took a deep breath.

 _Let duty take over. Do not think … do not think about how your duty will soon to involve arranging a funeral. A few more problems to take care of, and then you will have time … time to…_

"Guess we're a united front now," said a salarian to a turian, the two of them brushing shoulders against one another as they waited for the people in front of them to hurtle through the cosmos back home. "For what it's worth … I'll do everything I can to make sure our people will know there can be no vengeance. We're in this together now. Otherwise the protoss…"

"Will warp in, kill us all, and leave," finished the turian with a bitter chuckle. He cocked his head at the salarian. "Is this all it took? Just a little communication?"

"No, a little communication and a threat of certain death." The salarian shrugged. "The Reapers, zerg, and protoss are all quite tangible. When you're working with absolutes, it becomes much easier to cooperate." _Yes … isn't this exciting? How acceptable will this seem when the galaxy has been locked down for years on end, your freedoms and independence completely stifled? We'll see. You may even eventually turn to the Directorate for help …_ The salarian and turian stepped into the light together.

Hock stepped to Alexei's side. The protoss at the center of the nexus stared at their coming, eyes burning, robes flowing.

"Korhal, _DSS Aleksander_." Alexei flashed a smile at the protoss while the storm in his mind raged on, the contingencies and counter attacks shifting, mutating to accommodate the new realities…

 _But first, a funeral. And Earth must be notified … there is no coming home for this Armada. Not yet._

They stepped into the light together, emerging at the bridge of the _Aleksander_ , the events of the last few hours seeming a bizarre dream … were it not for the KM grinning at his side, no doubt wondering how much he could get away with now that he was a friend of Earth.

Crewman scattered at their wake, a heave and cry going up, but Alexei dispelled it with a bark.

"Notify Vice Admiral Ahern of my return!" he said, inwardly wincing at the inadvertent rhyme. "I will be establishing new fleet orders shortly. Continue the cleanup efforts at Augustgrad in the meantime. EDI – send Captain Leng to my quarters. I do not wish to be disturbed while I meet with Hock." He jerked his head back. "Hock. With me."

Alexei's head roared at the tangled mess of stress, exhaustion, and the single image of Gerard lying peacefully on his back within a stretcher, a gaping hole in his chest. _Was it quick, old friend? Can I tell that to your wife, at least?_ Alexei shook his head violently, making crewmen stare as he passed them, but he did not care. The KM followed in his wake, looking like he wanted to speak but knew better. Even in the turbolift he remained silent, despite the fact they remained totally alone. Alexei checked his watch briefly on the ride up. _There is time. There is time_.

"Fine quarters," declared Hock as soon as he stepped through the threshold, likely before he had even really taken in his surroundings. Alexei murmured a thanks before gesturing to his dining table, retreating to his footlocker and pulling free a single decanter of clear liquid.

"Did I say wine earlier?" Alexei asked, remembering quite clearly that he had, in fact, said wine. "I meant vodka." He slammed the bottle against the wooden table with a muffled thud, placing a pair of glasses next to it. He poured a pair of glasses before finally sitting, raising a glass to Hock.

"To Admiral Gerard DuGalle," Alexei said, voice thick. "Father, husband, officer, gentleman, and friend. Loved by his countrymen, feared by his foes, known to all. Cheers." Their glasses clinked together, and Alexei down the fire, let it permeate his being as it numbed his throat. Hock choked on the seat opposite, gingerly placing the glass down.

"Have you ever tried ryncol?" he asked, wiping his eyes. "Krogan drink. If this is what you favor, I expect you will handle it far better than I did."

Alexei did not reply, simply pouring himself another glass and downing it as well, eyes stinging, tears forming even as he internally scoffed at the vodka. _Been drinking these since I was twelve._

"So," said Hock, placing his palms upward and extending his arms, "Alexei … to business?"

"There is much to do," said Alexei. He planted the glass firmly against the coaster. "Warfield will help me pacify the Dominion, although the absence of Valerian Mengsk's body continues to vex me. But … that is for the future. At present there is this, and I must arrange a funeral."

"For Gerard, I take it?" Hock clucked his tongue in sympathy. "All the galaxy will know his face at least, likely in perpetuity. His broadcast … I had never seen anything like it. I wish I could have met him."

"He would have hated you." Alexei did not bother to watch Hock's reaction, instead pulling his fingers free, one at a time, from his left glove, then placing it carefully on the table. "It was in his breeding, you see. UPL aristocracy, although they would never call themselves that. He hated all of the colonials, although I think he struggled against that, in the end. I never saw much point in such hatred, myself."

"I am … pleased to hear that!" Alexei could _hear_ Hock's trembling smile as he pulled free the fingers on his right hand, tugging the leather away. _One. Two. Three…_

"No doubt you have much you wish to say to me," said Alexei, carefully placing the right glove atop the left one. "How we are both cut of the same cloth, men of reason, power, and action. Doubtless you know how to play chess, and play it well. You are used to giving orders and possessing wealth. Nothing less for a son of one of the Four Families, correct?"

"I … yes." Hock looked to either side of him, checking the exits. "I was hoping … as men of reason, power, and action … that we could help secure the remnants of the KMC. Forge it into something greater. I would do whatever you asked. I have proven myself a seasoned battle commander…"

"So I recall." Alexei checked his watch again. _Still time._ "I still noted a disproportionate number of KM defeats while holding against the Dominion, however."

"We were heavily outnumbered and fielding mercenaries with poor morale." Hock shrugged, smile becoming increasingly nervous. "You should be glad to have both Warfield and myself on your side, sir. We will make an able team for keeping this sector pacified." _Sir? How quickly he realizes the position he is in._

Alexei poured himself another glass, thinking.

"The other families," he said. "How will they react? Kelham is out of the equation, obviously, but Archer and Santiago were nowhere to be seen on Aiur."

"Archer likes playing with his syringes." Hock waved him off. "He is an asset, provided you do not impinge on his research and mining assets. I am told his Mobius Core also fields a sizable number of security forces, but they only ever fielded them when Harper gave the say so. No trouble from them. As for Santiago…" He shrugged. "No idea."

"Go back to Harper. And Cerberus." Alexei steepled his fingers and stared over them. "I would dearly love to know how they fit into all of this, what they will do … and where they are."

"No clue, no clue, and no clue." Hock laughed, his voice climbing to the pitch of a hyena. "Harper used to be based on Moria, but he made a bunch of money selling faulty yamato schematics … then he ordered some kind of space installation built. Then I never saw him physically again, not for about four years now. As for what they'll do … I thought Harper was going to retire once Mengsk was dead." He grinned at Alexei, desperate for some warmth from the admiral. "You're … you're not going to give him a reason to change his mind, are you?"

"My presence alone will make him change his mind." Alexei downed the glass. "Are you certain there is nothing you can tell me?"

"Of all the families, we had the least contact with the bastard." Hock wiped his forehead, a visible sheen now shining from it. "Cerberus … they lent a helping hand, but they fought against us in the Guild Wars, you know? They just hated Mengsk. They wanted him dead. That was it. No long term goals beyond that. What they'll do now, with the protoss on the move, these "Reapers" fucking everything up, with … you … anything could happen."

"Yes." Alexei poured himself a final glass. He raised it to Hock, but did not drink, instead simply holding it. "How well do you know your Earth history, Mr. Hock?"

"Well enough." Confusion flitted across his face. "Look … Admiral … I have powerful friends. I can provide troops, funding…"

"At post-peak resources, at a time when humans numbered twenty billion on Earth and her colonies, nations clung to capitalism when it became clear there was little left to sell." Alexei smiled at Hock. "They refused to place sanctions on those that had made them so much money, who continued to … hock … their cybernetic implants, their diesel engines, their bottled water. Everything died around them. Mutations ran rampant through the populace, and everything hung in the balance."

"So the people looked up to their nations, to their leaders, to men like me. And they shouted: "Save us!" So … we did." Alexei's smile widened. "Men like you, at that time … men like you died, trampled as the UPL began its crusade. No more war. No more dissent. No more carelessness born of greed. Much like the protoss, resistance was met with annihilation. A purge, not to be celebrated, but always to be remembered. You were born of that purge." Alexei tilted his glass in Hock's direction.

"The CEOs and their ilk, they all thought themselves so untouchable…" Alexei stood, glass still in hand. "To them, money had always bought everything. Silence, lives, food … take that all away, render all of that meaningless through the sheer weight of a panicking public, and they all realized in the end that, in the end, you cannot eat money. Nor could you buy off a mob. They ruined society, and in a ruined society, money is meaningless … much like your money right now, Mr. Hock."

Hock opened his mouth to say something, but came up with nothing, only a sound reminiscent of the chickens whose necks Alexei's mother would break in her youth. _Ah. A nostalgic image._

"The KMC represented outdated and terrible ideals. I am glad it is dead. I plan to cremate the remains." Alexei checked the time. "Ah. If you will excuse me, I have a funeral to plan." He walked to the door, glass still in hand, turning one more time, feeling nothing at the terrified expression on Hock's face. _You really should not have come here, my friend. The Dominion will likely live on, in a fashion, its culture preserved through the memory of its emperor. You and yours on the other hand…_

"It's not your funeral, there is no need to look so worried." Alexei smiled at Hock and turned on his heel, walking out the door. He heard Hock get up from his chair, prepare to walk towards the door. To Alexei's left, Leng nodded and grinned.

"After all, you don't need a funeral. You simply vanished one day, never to be seen again."

Alexei walked away as the door shut behind him. Two muffled thuds and a moan made it through the threshold. Alexei nodded and smiled, face finally cracking, the tears streaming down it. He raised his glass.

 _To my oldest friend, Gerard._

 _His dreams of supremacy shall live on, through the men he left behind._

There was nothing else left to really care about anymore. Arrange a funeral, destroy the Reapers, conquer the galaxy … and then die, a man fulfilled. Alexei checked his watch one last time, wiping his eyes with his other hand.

 _I'll have to keep a schedule._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: James**


	37. The Bigger Picture

**James**

"Apostrophe indicates ownership. Or contraction. But here, it's ownership. "Mengsk's" Dominion." With an apostrophe." Jim stirred at this, legs tangled in the sheets, mind blurring with a mix of a half-forgotten dream, countless memories of combat, and the dull hum of the ventilation shaft pumping air into the room. It took a moment to get his bearings and sit upright against the bed board, squinting in the glaring light of his computer, against which was framed Miranda, sitting in front of the desk in nothing except black panties.

"Goin' through my mail again, darlin'?" Jim wiped his eyes with his forearm, the sweat parting from his head and attaching to it, glistening. "Nothing really worthwhile in there. Still wish you wouldn't."

Miranda looked back at him, expression somehow calculated, the eyes, barely visible when framed against the backdrop of light, narrowed and discerning. She said nothing, however, returning to the computer and scrolling past walls of text. Jim sighed and pushed himself off the bed, fully naked himself. He peered over Miranda's shoulder, head throbbing slightly, the sleep slowly falling away as the past two months asserted themselves over whatever surreal reality had occupied him in his sleep.

"Woke up, knew I couldn't sleep," Miranda said, voice clipped, obviously more focused on what she was looking at on the screen – comments to some video, Jim guessed. "Only two hours before we had to get up, anyway. Did some work, then ran out of work. Now I'm trying to gauge galactic opinion."

"And reading my emails." Jim kissed the top of her head to make clear he didn't really mind that much. _She needs control. Tries to keep everything ordered. And hell, what emails do I really got that matter? "Hey Tychus, should we go get drinks?" "Hey Matt, maybe we should finally find out where Tychus been acquiring that rocket fuel?" "Dear Harper, how we gonna deal with the UED? Sincerely, Jim." That's about the scope of it. It's not like that's what really matters…_

"This is the main video of Mengsk's execution," said Miranda, snapping the screen to the top, revealing the hideous thumbnail. _Yeah, that's what I look like from the outside. Big black combat suit, skull on the helmet. Pointing a gun at a bound and unarmed man's head._ _Real heroic-like._ "Guess what the top comment is?"

"I don't want to know." Jim turned back to his bed and looked for the digital clock. _Alright. Seven in the morning. Gonna have to get up soon._ "Something witty, let me guess?"

"Raynor warps in, kills the emperor, and-"

"That's not funny." Jim laid back down on the bed, staring up at the faded gold paint on the ceiling. _These officer's quarters musta been a gilded sight in the Confederacy's heyday_. Absentmindedly, he reached to his right for the bed stand, feeling for the hard pointed metal. He pulled it towards him, staring at the glinting Mar Sara Marshal badge, practically the only thing besides the suit he managed to take away from the planet. _Back then, guess I stood for something clear. Even if I didn't like what I stood for too much._ He placed the badge back on the bed stand gingerly, as if afraid it would somehow break at a single thoughtless touch, if he dropped it on the floor. The light from the computer snapped off, followed by padded footsteps. The bedsprings squeaked as Miranda climbed in next to him, grabbing his arm and pulling around her, resting her head against Jim's shoulder.

"You have about an hour. I have about ten minutes." Miranda craned her neck upward and kissed him on the cheek. "You got your revolution, you know."

"I always envisioned it bein', I dunno, a popular uprising." Jim looked down at Miranda, hugging her tightly to his chest. "Maybe the Citadel doin' something. I could get behind that, if it was done proper. What I got was…" Jim struggled to find the words. "…it wasn't what I thought I wanted. I … I put a gun to his head, Miranda, you know. And I think I felt more scared than he did, in the moment."

"If you didn't really want to do it, you should have called me over to do it for you." Miranda pulled herself out of Jim's grasp and kneeled over him, one side of her hair tucked behind her ear, the other tumbling down her shoulder. "Whatever else might happen, never think that what you did was a mistake. It was a bloody privilege."

"Yeah?" Jim pulled himself up as well, head resting against the headboard again. "I killed an unarmed man in front of his son without a trial. If … if my son was still alive, how would I explain that to him? How can I explain that to the people now gettin' their shit pushed in by the Directorate?" Jim heaved a deep breath. "I broke somethin', and I don't know what to replace it with. Sure as hell not the Earthers. Not the protoss, neither."

"That was never really for you to decide though, was it, Jim?" Miranda seemed to tower over him, face half in shadow through her hair. "I don't think anyone expected you to come up with a solution. Just to motivate. To fight. To persevere. People like you lead the charge. People like me arrange so that you have ammunition, and to arrange a swift cleanup and rebuilding afterwards. You don't have anything to really take responsibility for. Mengsk dying at your hand – your sense of right is well-known. A better outcome than had it been done by DuGalle." She lowered her head, staring closer at him. "Is this why you've been so quiet? Uncertainty? A guilty conscience?"

Jim opened his mouth and shut it again. Part of him, some remnant of his youth, marveled that he could actually feel anything than bliss while a mostly naked woman sat on his bed, while the rest … _I just always envisioned what it would mean to see Tarsonis revealed to the galaxy, for Mengsk to die for his crimes. But … it's like Mengsk slid under the galaxy and held it up, made it worse but held it up. When he died, everything just fell and shattered to pieces._

"Have you ever wondered if there was a pivotal moment, Miranda?" Jim struggled to find the words, to dig through too many painful memories. "Like … some place where you coulda done something else, and everything from that point on would have been changed? Better? 'Cause I think you're right. People call me in to break shit and convince people it's for a good reason. I think that moment was when I decided to pick up a gun and fight for the Confederacy. Everything else is just … ripples followin' that decision. Shoulda stayed on Shiloh."

"Oh, get a grip, Jim." Miranda leaned down over him, making him shrink, only to kiss him fully on the mouth. Jim grabbed her back and pulled her in, holding her in place for a few seconds before she pulled away again, her hair forming a curtain around his head.

"You wouldn't have gotten that if you were still on Shiloh," she said, slightly breathless. "Where would Tychus be? Still frozen? Dead? Disgusting as that man is, I would not wish that on him. Where would Matt be? Still serving Mengsk? What about Saren? Another marshal would have shot him. Ignoring Tarsonis, for which I hope he burns in hell, his death would have had some severe repercussions for the planet and first contact with the turians." She shook her head. "Could list a lot of names here, Jim. Everyone on this ship is here because of you. And so far, they're still free." She lifted her head, shook out her hair. "And speaking as someone from the Old Families … I lost a lot of friends the day Tarsonis fell. Then the few I didn't lose died a few days later, when Mengsk cleaned up. A lot of people were fighting to be the one to pull the trigger, Jim."

"Thank you." _Doesn't mean it was the right thing … but maybe there was a certain inevitability to it. Maybe something can still be salvaged out of this. And really … didn't I get what I wanted? Shouldn't bitch about it._ "Sorry. Don't mean to be melodramatic."

"It was a big decision. It makes sense to have doubts about it. As I'm sure you had doubts when you first came to Moria after refusing Spectrehood." Miranda kissed him on the forehead. "First time I saw you. You weren't as tall as I expected."

"Yeah, I recall you not bein' too impressed at first." Jim chuckled. "Guess you changed your mind somewhere along the way."

"Just a bit." Miranda leaned down and kissed him again, this time lightly. Then she looked beyond him to the clock. "Hmm. A schedule to keep."

"Sure you can't be a little late?" Jim reached out, stroked Miranda's face with the back of a few fingers. She smiled down at him.

"We both know the answer to that." _Yeah. I guess we do._

"Just give me a shout if Tychus and Xeltan are waiting anywhere outside." Jim leaned back turning a pillow over and burying his head. "For some reason they think this is hilarious."

"It's just insecurity. I think they have trouble internalizing just who the alpha male really is. They mask their fear with derision." _I really don't know if she's joking or not. But, well … she's the one with the education, I guess._

"I'll see you in a bit." Jim turned over just in time to see Miranda open the door and exit, hair and Cerberus uniform slightly disheveled. Then the door slid shut again behind her and left Jim alone. _Got about forty-five minutes. I'm sure no one would mind if I got up early. Sure as hell not fallin' asleep again._

Part of Jim felt awkward, just throwing on the same old shirt, jeans, and jacket combination he wore every day, even to a damn Cerberus meeting, the likes of which he had not been privy to for years. The rest didn't care. _Ain't that just me? The folksy hero? Not gonna pretend to be something I'm not. And when it comes down to it, I am no Cerberus goon._ He still brushed his hair though, just like his mama taught him.

While Miranda might have gone unharrassed upon her exit from his room, Jim was not so lucky. Jack waited outside, leaning against the wall opposite with her tattooed arms folded across her chest. Jim stopped and stared, waiting to see if today would be the day the woman decided to rip his head off for some unknown slight. _Damn well hope not. She's been so well-behaved lately, aside from her and Tychus keeping Trome up at night._

"Hey," she said by way of greeting, sounding if anything a little anxious. She didn't say anything else, instead staring in a different direction.

"Anytime you're ready." Jim mimicked her own arms, resisting the urge to tap his foot. _That's probably a bridge too far. Girl's got quite a temper._

"I don't like asking for help," Jack said, looking up into Jim's face without blinking. "Or advice. But … I don't know. Tychus doesn't know shit, which isn't surprising, and I'm left with my gut. That weird ass ghost, Tosh, he wants me in his Phantom group."

"That was the eventual deal, wasn't it?" Jim unfolded his arms and resisted the urge to yawn, lest Jack take offense. "Took you on board to get you to those folks. They know their psionics, and a lot of 'em are ex-Dominion. Their brains been under the microscope too. Why, is there a problem?"

"I guess." Jack shrugged, looking away again. "Look – I've run with a lot of bad people. Pirates, slavers, cults – you know. The usual suspects. The throwaway guys that get gunned down in video games and movies. Did it for money, for giggles, sometimes for no reason at all. Never felt safe, though. Never felt … happy." Jack fell silent for a little while, staring pointedly at a point directly a foot and a half to Jim's left. "I dunno. I think I'm happy here. I feel safe in my quarters. The people here are nice. Tychus brought me a golden head from one of Mengsk's statues. But … that was the deal, wasn't it? To pass me off to Harper's hit squad?"

"No. That wasn't the deal." Jim took another step forward, now standing directly in front of Jack, who frowned as she looked into his face. "The deal was that, if you wanted to go to his people, you could. They'd be able to look at that brain of yours, get you doing something useful and probably violent, and you wouldn't have to put up with this stupid ship no more."

"It's … it's not that stupid." Jack lost her nerve again, looking straight down at the floor. "Is it okay…" Jack coughed, and then unfolded her arms and straightened, barely reaching Jim's neck. Her fists balled. "I mean, I _want_ to stay here. Just … just try and stop me." _You almost sounded convincing there. It's alright. Not here to make you feel vulnerable._

"Alright, just let Tosh and his people know." Jim smiled at her, but she just snorted and left … although "fled" might have been the better word. _Hmm. Hope that wasn't a mistake. Poor woman could probably kill everyone on this ship if she felt like it. Tychus, man, you better keep her happy…_

Jim shrugged and went on his way, stomach rumbling. _Wish I had time to stop for breakfast … but I get the feeling we got a short window to do this. Everyone wants to know who and where Harper is right now, don't they?_

The distance between Jim's quarters and the airlock that would take him to the Icarus-8 space station was considerable enough that Jim headed instead for the turbolift, privately hoping that no one would occupy the lift with him. _Just want to get this over with._ Instead, as the doors slid open, he resisted the urge to sigh at the sight of a grinning Declan, who hurriedly beckoned him to enter.

"In a good mood?" Jim asked, trying not to sound half-hearted as he pushed the button for his declaration. "Usually I only see that smile when you get a paycheck."

"Communique from the wife," said Declan, his batarian baritone unusually joyous. For the life of him, Jim could not remember ever hearing a member of his species use that tone. "Protoss are dissolving the slaves and caste system, which means that even she were unmarried, she and the kids aren't at risk of becoming slaves. It means she can throw that bastard out. It means … I might be able to go home."

Jim slapped the batarian on the back, grinning up at him, mostly genuine. "I'd miss ya, man, but … that's great news."

"Wasn't sure how quick the protoss would move." Declan couldn't seem to stop moving, shifting in place and twitching his hands. "Or that they would keep their word, to be honest. Plenty of people, aliens and batarians both, always talked about ditching slaves. Or the caste system. Might have to find a new title for the Hegemon, now. "Anto, the Breaker of Chains," or something like that."

"Right." Jim stared at the door, waiting for them to open. "Just let me know if and when you need to make the trip. Kar'Shan is quite a ways away."

"Oh don't worry, I'll give you plenty of advance." Declan grinned down at him. "I … thank you for this, Jim. If you'd left me on Thessia, never would have got this shot. When this is all over, what do you-" The door slid open, a small crowd waiting on the other side.

"We'll talk later," promised Jim, stepping through the crowd, some of whom shouted greetings or lifted their hands in high fives, which Jim met with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Once through, he suppressed an inward groan once he saw who waited on the other side, smoking a massive cigar.

"Partner." Tychus wiggled his eyebrows. "Heard you had quite the night, last night. Me and Xeltan are happy for you."

"You waitin' out here just to torment me, Tychus?" Jim didn't bother stopping, knowing the bastard would follow him, perhaps even into the space station itself. Sure enough, the familiar ratting clanks of Tychus's footsteps echoed behind him as soon as Jim walked past him.

"Naw, Jimmy. I was waitin' for that Egon Stettman. Man knows his chemicals." Tychus puffed, making Jim glad he was not standing behind him, caught in a perpetual cloud of cigar smoke. _Guess that answers the question about the rocket fuel. Might have to have a chat with Egon._ "Then I see you go by and think, "Damn, that's one lucky man." I'm proud of you, Jimmy. It's hard work loosening up them uptight core world girls, to make 'em admit all they want is for someone to call "Daddy.""

"That's enough of that." Jim stopped in place and rounded on Tychus. "Alright? Don't need to hear that shit from you, don't wanna hear it. It's disrespectful. It's none of your business."

Tychus gave an enormous shrug of the shoulders, grinning wickedly through one side of his mouth while the other chomped on the cigar. "Just gotta say the word, partner. Still … li'l Jimmy Raynor. Marryin' on up."

"Don't think that's in the timetable, Tychus." _She'd let me know if it was._ Jim turned on his heel and continued on, half tempted to tell the dumbass to head back the way he came. _How is he the dumbass? You're the one who saw fit to bring the bastard back. Now look at him … sauntering through the halls, making stimpacks out of rocket fuel, sleeping with a woman half his size and twice as psychotic. It's all my fault._

"So … meetin' up with that Harper fella?" Tychus sounded in no way deterred by Jim's anger, keeping up with the increasing pace of his walk and ignoring the stony silence with insulting ease. "Strange man. Least it seems like he knows what he's doin'. What do you think the next step is, partner?"

"Never thought there would be a "next step" after Mengsk died," said Jim through gritted teeth. "I'm not sure Harper ever did, either. Judgin' by the way things are goin', though, I guess we've all had to make some adjustments."

"Zerg. Reapers. UED." Tychus chuckled. "This what you brought me back for, partner? The alien apocalypse?"

"Brought you back because it was the right thing." Jim sighed in relief as he reached the threshold of the airlock, activating the door and turning to Tychus. "I gotta go to this meeting. I'll see you in a bit."

"Right. You just let me know if more aliens invade." Tychus shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth and extended a hand, which Jim prepared to shake, only for Tychus to clasp it and pull him closer.

"You're the people's hero," murmured Tychus, eyes narrowed, tone curiously serious. "Don't forget that, Jimmy. A bona fide champion."

"Champions don't execute unarmed men, Tychus," replied Jim, pulling away. Tychus puffed on his cigar, eyes still narrowed.

"That's right, partner. They don't."

A chill went through Jim, settling in his stomach. He stared up at Tychus, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed, trying to find the words while his worms wriggled in his belly. Tychus just turned and walked away, leaving Jim in the smog, feeling as if he were about to vomit. _You … you tried to stop me. At the last minute. Condemnation … from you, of all people?_

Jim turned again and proceeded through the airlock, trying not to stagger. His body felt weightless while his head felt bulbous, misshapen, precariously perched atop something all too light. As the airlock cycled, he struggled to breathe, flexed his fingers, tried to bring some semblance of normalcy to his body and mind. _Breathe. You need to get through this. What you did isn't going away. Shouldn't talk to people like that and expect … absolution. Understanding. Because it ain't entirely deserved. Now all we can do is deal with the aftermath._

Jim steadied, thoughts racing, turning back as far as Liddy, wondering what the hell she would have made of all this, to his parents, what they would have said … then moving forward again, to the Great War. _Kerrigan. Saren. It should have been one of you to pull the trigger. What do they feel about this? Where are they now?_

By the time the Icarus-8 doors opened, Jim strode through with little hesitation and only a slight bit of wobbling. _Not the time for this, man. Take it. Take it like a man. Did Saren break down when you told him on Tarsonis ... huh. Here's the other side of all that righteousness._

People nodded to him as he went by, making Jim wonder if any of them remembered his original stop at this station, six years ago. _Closing on seven, now._ It seemed emptier now, and it had not been exactly brimming with life before. No sign of mercenaries. No _Undertaker_ docked with them. Just a handful of Morians or whatever they would call themselves now, dressed in light blue maintenance uniforms, performing their menial tasks until the inevitable UED fleet arrived to claim their station and their jobs in the name of the glorious homeworld…

Jim could not help but snort as he approached the conference room. Duran stood beside a taped notice next to the door upon which was emblazoned, "Secret Cerberus Meeting: 8:15 a.m. – 11:00 a.m." beneath a golden Cerberus sigil, rather pointedly staring at Jim as if daring at him to laugh openly.

"Your doing?" Jim pointed at the notice.

"Ah, Mr. Raynor. It is well-known that I lack any manner of humor, and refuse to engage in such frivolity." Duran smiled at him, a great pearly white grin. "Rest assured, I will find the scoundrel responsible for this mockery of our great organization and administer an appropriate punishment. And fear not; I will take down the notice as well … once the meeting is over."

Jim nodded and smiled, the sickness receding somewhat. He waved at Duran in acknowledgment before passing through the door into the darkened room. Three rings of chairs, mostly unoccupied, surrounded a great table and QEC device. _Guess Harper's not coming in person._ Jim took up a seat in the front row, on the opposite side of Miranda, who gave him a small nod. Next to her sat Oleg Petrovsky, who was busy wiping his forehead, while a pair of men sat behind them in the furthermost ring of chairs, one with a shaved head, staring with curious eyes at the people around them, the other keeping his eye on the former.

Duran entered the room shortly afterward, taking a seat close to Jim's, smile visible even in the dim. Petrovsky stared at Duran momentarily with a frown before activating and fiddling with his omnitool, making the lights dim while the QEC lit up. _When's the last time I've seen the man in person? When's the last time any of us have seen him in person?_

A blue form appeared within the circle of the QEC, tall and impeccably groomed, wearing a black and white suit of now endangered Morian fashion. He turned in place, nodding, checking to see who was present. His eyes momentarily focused on Jim, who gave him a thumbs up to no apparent acknowledgement.

"It's a pleasure to see you all again," said Jack Harper, nodding once, placing his hands behind his back and straightening. "I apologize for the relative lateness of this meeting, as well as being unable to appear in person for both the death of Mengsk and this gathering. I am sure you can all understand why." _Yeah. The UED doesn't seem to know much about you. Chalk it up to Confederate secrecy and Dominion desire to erase all record of you existing. Wonder how many people would've even believed there were still major Confederate elements resisting Mengsk._ Jim turned his head toward Miranda. _Even an Old Family member still kicking._

"Regardless of the … various states terran nations have found themselves in since their founding, at the very least they could claim sovereignty over themselves," continued Harper, turning in place, trying to address everyone. _Maybe I should've sat with the others, so he wouldn't do this? But … I'm pretty sure Duran would just stay here. So it doesn't matter._ "As of two months ago, that has changed. The Kel-Morian Combine and Terran Dominion have been subsumed by the earthborne Directorate, and the Independent Terra Systems Alliance is now held under the unsteady sway of the protoss." _Don't tell me they didn't earn that. I love 'em, but there's only so long you can thumb the nose at everyone around you._

"This leaves only the Umojan Protectorate, who have strengthened themselves by allying with the quarians and asari; desperate measures perhaps, but their government and borders remain unchanged. They stand firm against the Reapers and UED both, and remain free to go about their business without protoss supervision." Harper paused, rubbed his eyes, and continued. "I … I intended to retire once this was done, as I did just before the Great War. Mengsk's atrocities have been exposed and avenged … and I understand that Chau Sara needs a new magistrate." Harper glanced at Jim, eyes sad. "The reason they need a new magistrate, sadly, is because the old one fell afoul of the sector's new masters. The United Earth Directorate. They also seem quite keen on discovering my whereabouts. I do not think they have anything benevolent in mind for me. For any of us in particular, but something about Cerberus seems to make Alexei Stukov anxious."

"So there will be no retirement." Oleg, sounding relieved. "But then … what is the plan?"

"What is the situation?" replied Harper, gesturing to the table before the device. At Oleg's activation of the omnitool, the table lit up with an overview of the galaxy entire, sections shaded to indicate ownership. Harper pointed to a gray area outside the Koprulu Sector. "Here. Tuchanka. Umoja reports that a sizable UED force has arrived and began to make overtures to Clan Urdnot." Harper inclined his head towards Jim. "I believe we can guess their intentions. The UED wishes to unite the krogan race and perhaps cure the Genophage. They seem to be met with about as much success as the Umojans so far, but I understand that Wrex has recovered from his injuries and will be touching down shortly. That might change things." _Huh. Wonder if he'll be bringing Grunt and his "mom."_ A slight tinge of melancholy settled over Jim. _A shame. Might end up facing off against Anderson and Shepard. Didn't seem like the worst people._

Harper pointed and drew a line through blue space, former ITSA space. "Protoss control the ITSA, and most of their worlds have been hit with the Reapers. Korhal as well. Approximately 300,000 ITSA citizens and about 2,000 UED troops have been abducted for some purpose. There is also indication that the Reapers have a vested interest in locating and harvesting zerg and protoss tissue." Harper shrugged. "If anyone has any ideas as to why, I would appreciate knowing." He looked to the two men in the back. "Archer. KMC report."

"The Hegemony and Terminus still have their Waygates," said the man on the right, the one with the unshaven head, rising and pushing down on the shoulder of the other. _Ah. Gavin Archer and his brother._ "So they'll be alright at least. But the rest? Massani's missing and Santiago's sold out to the UED and is now openly plundering Moria with his Blue Suns with their blessing, Kelham's on the other side of the galaxy keeping Aria's seat warm while I've got his family hidden, Hock's presumed dead and his children are definitely in UED custody, and I've got Stukov breathing down my neck." Gavin gritted his teeth. "My Mobius Corps is probably the most advanced KMC outfit, but there's still no way we can oppose the UED. I'm going to be forced to place myself at their disposal. From what I can tell given the situation in the Dominion, this will probably mean quelling civil uprisings and putting all infrastructure towards a war footing."

"Gentlemen," said Duran, rising from his seat and apparently surprising Harper, who rounded in place to meet him. "While I understand the fear you feel in the face of the Directorate's grip, I believe we are losing perspective here. The Reaper threat is mounting, as Korhal has made abundantly clear, and the zerg have returned. Let us not forget the larger picture amidst the smaller terrors and petty grievances. We must devote our time and resources towards the greater enemy before the lesser can be defeated."

"Duran is right," said Miranda, making Jim raise his eyebrows. She rose without fear, looking Harper right in the eye as he sighed and turned again. Duran smiled widely at her. "We almost lost everything on Thessia because people would not stop fighting. The protoss are now holding a knife to the throat of the galaxy unless we pull ourselves into order. Trying to overthrow the UED at this juncture, even thinking about it…" Miranda shook her head once. "No. Harper, I know your location is secure and remote. Moreover, I know you can do a lot of good for the anti-Reaper cause. And I think you should."

"I did not oppose Mengsk just to see an even worse regime replace him." Harper wringed his hands, looking, for the first time since Mar Sara, suddenly quite agitated and uncertain. "Duran … Ms. Lawson … we have seen the reports. People are vanishing in UED territory. Uprisings are being quelled with frightening force and efficiency. Worse, for all their cruelty, the UED is also installing governors, building and rebuilding hospitals and farms … they are rendering entire planets at a time dependent on their medicine and farming techniques, and all the while people disappear."

"It was worse when Mengsk took over," said Miranda stubbornly. "Entire families disappeared, then. A planet as well, remember? We might not ever get a fully benevolent regime in the Sector, and the UED are despicable racists besides, but we cannot keep shooting for some utopia on the horizon. The Reapers are here, to some extent. The zerg are back. We've had our revenge. It's over. Time to move on."

"With all due respect, Ms. Lawson, that is a hard sell." Gavin Archer looked to his brother, who was busy on his omnitool, completely disinterested in the discussion. "Some of us could lose a … a great deal by knuckling under. Some of us already are. Are we supposed to just take it for the "greater good?"" Gavin paused and sighed. "Ah. Whatever our eventual decision, I will do my best to conduct damage control. Kelham's children will remain safe with me. If the UED press the issue and begin putting their nose where it does not belong, I will retaliate."

"Jim?" Harper now looked to Jim, eyes almost pleading. "Do we turn the other cheek, here?"

"You want to piss off the protoss, man?" Jim shrugged irritably. "I think they've made their thoughts clear: so long as people aren't doin' undue damage and are preparin' for the coming apocalypse, they're okay. We act against the UED, we stand in the way of Reaper preparation. Of the protoss."

"But you could talk to them, tell them of Earth's history!" Harper sighed. "They trust you … but no. I can see your point, Duran. Lawson. Jim. This is not the hour of rebellion."

"Your mood is dark, but I have good news!" Duran's brightness seemed to wear on Harper, who frowned as his eyes flicked towards his subordinate. "I cloaked and observed the primary zerg creature upon Korhal. An infested asari, if I am any judge. Moreover, I … marked it, so to speak. It has a very distinctive psionic signature."

"This is a new talent of yours, Duran," said Harper, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Again and again, it seems you find ways to surprise me."

"My means are subtle, and I prefer to hide my hand." Duran's smile had vanished now, any trace of warmth in his eyes likewise gone. "She is a beacon to those who know what to look for, and fear leaked from her every thought. The trail leads to Umoja. And there it moves elsewhere, to empty space." Duran laughed. "The Umojans have, of course, reported the descent of the leviathan and its subsequent crash. "All survivors terminated," they say, and they even invited the protoss to inspect and remove the remains. The protoss are mostly satisfied and move on in search of this elusive asari. I think I know where to go."

"Again I am both baffled and awed by your abilities and acumen, Duran," said Harper, making Jim suck in a breath. _Something's off, here._ "Let me guess: you wish to pursue this target. Alone."

"I am your dutiful servant, Mr. Harper." Duran still did not smile. "I am the hidden blade. Send me, and I will bring you back word on the zerg, and perhaps the allegiance of the Umojans. You may squint all you want at me, but I will bring you results. As I always have."

"Then you may as well begin now. I will debrief you later. You are dismissed."

Duran smiled (or rather, bared his teeth,) lowered himself into a sweeping bow, and then exited, squeezing Jim's shoulder on the way out. _He's really not the worst guy … for a ghost._ The conference room remained silent save for Duran's quiet footsteps, the door sliding shut behind him almost seeming loud in comparison.

"Ms. Lawson, have you made any headway into uncovering our good friend's true past?" Harper stared at the door Duran had exited from, his body totally still. Miranda only shook her head.

"Everything is contradictory or outright false. For all I can tell, he showed up out of the blue during the Great War to offer his services. At the very least, he has proven an asset."

"Yes. Quite the asset." Harper's eye twitched. "Something is wrong with the man. Ms. Lawson, should he go AWOL or outright act against us, I am assigning you to take him out. Understood?"

"You really think that's necessary?" Jim did not stand, but still met Harper's gaze with his own without blinking. "We're all running from somethin', aren't we? Why can't we just leave the past be. He's proven himself time and time again."

"His words and actions are not consistent with someone who claims to be "barely worthy of notice," Mr. Raynor," said Miranda. _You'd never guess we were sleeping together just a few hours ago, from the tone she's using._ "Tosh has indicated great distrust of him, and says he does not believe he is a "5" on the psi scale. If it comes to it, Mr. Harper, I will take care of him." _Well … you'll try. Darlin', I know you got tricks up your sleeve, but how precisely do you plan on taking him out, if he's more powerful than he says he is?_

"I nevertheless agree with his sentiment, however reluctantly, about the Reapers." Harper sounded tired. "I am told that the Council had dispatched Spectres to follow up on the terrorist attacks, and that some progress has been made. No idea how much, however. That leaves us with a handful of leads … and little else." Harper's tired tone turned to outright resignation. "It seems we must assist the UED, for time being. For all my reservations, they did kill Mengsk, and they are preparing against the greater threat. Petrovsky!" Petrovsky almost jumped at this. "Would you kindly dispatch a team to Kar'Shan? Archer can give you his blessings to get the batarians to talk. I need to discover just where they found the Leviathan of Dis, as well as any clues as to how it eventually ended up flying into a sun. Duran's investigations turned up little, but…"

"I can certainly try, sir."

"Archer – we must hold the line here, in Morian space. Save who we can, prepare for the inevitable." Gavin nodded grievously at this, fear alive in his eyes. Then Harper turned to Jim.

"Jim, I need you to speak to the protoss. Convince them to stem the tide of UED purges if possible, otherwise just assist them in their ongoing investigation. It may be worth contacting Sarah Kerrigan … even if the thought makes me ill. Miranda, remain with Jim for the time being." _Huh. Finally have a reason to maybe meet her in person again. Been a long time … not sure I want to. Might be fun to show Tychus the Citadel._ He smiled briefly at Miranda before stopping quickly. _All business right now. All business._

"And I suppose Duran will handle the Umojans and zerg." Harper closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly reminding Jim of the night they had stood together in his office, having just fended off the zerg. _Tired. So tired. But still strong._ "Destroying the Reapers is the long term goal, but I'm not sure how much we can do. If we can discover the base of their servants, or the damn things themselves, maybe a weakness, we can begin to work on it. At present, all we can do is investigate, prepare, and try to mitigate the damage from Earth. Are there any questions?"

' _Course there are questions. Just none you'd have answers to. "What's gonna happen? Is everything going to be okay?"_

"This is the protoss's show for now." Harper folded his arms back behind him once more. "Give me updates. As we receive more information, more can be done. For all my misgivings, at least I have faith that Duran will turn up … something. Good luck."

Harper disappeared and the lights came on. _Guess it didn't last 'till 11 a.m. after all. Probably because Harper didn't get to strike against the UED like he thought he would._ The anxiety and nausea came back as he stood. _Shit. There really is no easy way out of this, is there? It ain't about a revolution any more. Whole galaxy's gotta stand against what's coming, and all I can think about is … Mengsk … and Stukov._

They left in ones and twos, Petrovsky and Miranda leaving together (to Jim's slight irritation,) the Archers departing as a familial unit, leaving Jim the last to leave, alone.

The notice remained besides the door. Jim ripped it off with only slight hesitation, feeling weirdly guilty for doing so. He felt only a little surprise when Duran appeared from behind a corner, smiling again.

"Thank you for supporting me, my friend." He bowed low, the smile genuine this time. "And … I appreciate the trust. I understand the conflict raging beneath the surface. It is a difficult thing to commit to, trying to do the right thing at all costs. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and I have no intention of betraying our mutual friend, but should Miranda be given cause to hunt me down, I will take every measure necessary to spare her life." The smile did not falter, but something now burned behind Duran's eyes, something that made the hysteria rise in Jim's throat. It was the same kind of fire Jim had seen in Harper on this station years ago, a resoluteness and passion that never went hand in hand with compromise. _On the one hand … it's scary. On the other … isn't that what we want in allies? Knowing that they will stand with us, always? That they truly believe in what we're doing?_ Duran extended a hand, which Jim shook hesitantly.

"Now … we both have our duties, my friend. Let us attend to them."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Wrex**


	38. Homecoming

**Wrex**

Wrex's bones ached. His plates ached. His arms sometimes shook whenever he picked something up, a worrying symptom of the weight of both ages and injury slowly ruining his body. When he fully unfolded his right hand and stretched out the fingers, it felt as if a sharp nub of bone jutted out from two of the joints, threatening to rupture his skin. And sometimes, usually at night, his primary heart would start beating very quickly, flooding his body with pain and warning chemicals, as if he were in a battle rather than a bed.

 _This is not how I imagined my homecoming. Not that I ever bothered imagining much before._ Wrex grimaced, sending another dull throb through his crest at the prolonged motion. He stared dully at the tiny cockpit, wondering if the terran cripple's legs felt any better than his did. _I can stand without crutches, at the least. But I am krogan. Such is to be expected. And really – what use am I when my body is broken? The terran at least knows how to pilot._

"You sure you gotta hover back there?" The pilot displayed no fear, did not even turn to face him as he spoke. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're less irritating than Anderson, but I keep worrying we'll hit some space turbulence, you'll trip, and then you'll break something important. Like my body."

"You do not fear my temper?" Wrex half-stepped out of the cockpit, partially to give the pilot some room, partially so that he could get a better look at him. "On most of you terrans, I smell fear when it comes to close quarters. But not you." _Nor Shepard. But Shepard runs into battle without a real weapon. Even I would think before doing so._

"You know that elcor, Xeltan? The one back on the _Norad II?_ " Joker looked back briefly at Wrex, as if to check he were still there. "I, uh, almost patted him on the head. You know – four-legged creature … didn't seem like a person. But he asked me, uh, how I would feel if he started touching me. Told me I'd freak out. And you know, I agreed. So I'm trying, I'm trying to treat the aliens I meet as people." Joker looked back again, scanning Wrex quickly, lingering on his thick arms. "You got clearance. I know your name. And I'm not doing anything important. So … what's the difference between you standing there or Jenkins? Hell, you haven't even asked me to do a barrel roll, so you're better than Jenkins in my book."

"Hmph." Wrex cocked his head a Joker turned around again, focusing on his controls. _A strange view for anyone to have. Let alone these … Earthers._ _But then, I have seen no other Earther with a disease such as his._

"And, if we're going off "favorite krogan on this vessel," you're probably the one I'd pick." Wrex narrowed his eyes, recognizing the playful tone in the terran's voice. "Grunt only likes you and Shepard and Okeer freaks me out. You're just, you know. Quiet."

 _The pain contributes to that. There's feeling old, and then there's feeling old and … borderline useless._ Wrex stared down at his hands, turned them over, straightened them out. Pain stabbed through him again. _When my body breaks, there will be no great mind left behind. No worthwhile skills past the killing. I want to say that krogan were not supposed to live this long … but then I look at Okeer. Okeer could have his legs amputated and I would still fear his knowledge._

"Wrex." The Captain, more tired-looking by the day, despite his injuries healing far better than Wrex's. Wrex backed out of the cockpit and turned to face the man, already armored but with the helmet retracted, noting the long scar that now ran across the left side of his jaw, the skin raw and pink like a fresh kill. "We're touching down soon. Shepard and Grunt are waiting by the armory – how do you feel?"

"Never thought I'd be coming back here." Wrex paused, trying to dismiss the old memories and emotions and uncover just what he really felt, to come back to his old stomping grounds at the behest of an alien power rather than his own volition. He shook his head. "A few aches and pains from Korhal. Otherwise, fine." _Confused. Disappointed. I will have to hide such when I come face to face with Wreav._

Anderson checked briefly around him to see if anyone was paying attention before stepping closer to Wrex. "What kind of reception are you expecting?"

Wrex snorted. "Wreav has wanted me dead since before I left Tuchanka. Now he's in charge of our clan, and I have to wrest control from him. If it weren't for a handful of traditions and the Council orbital platforms, he'd try to have us blown out of the sky." _Mostly the latter, knowing him. Though he will cite the former._

"Should we expect hostilities?"

Wrex resisted the urge to outright laugh in the Captain's face, instead simply settling for a steely grin.

"This is Tuchanka. The krogan homeworld. No one should walk on its surface without … expecting hostilities."

"From one radioactive hellhole to the next." Anderson sucked in a deep breath. "Well. We'll back you. All we need is a foothold here, and then we can start sending in the SCVs and experts. I will see you down by the cargo doors, once we've touched down."

Wrex nodded slowly and let David past him, into the cockpit. He heard some mention of "protoss vessels," but decided against hanging around to find out what it meant. _How will those plans of yours go if the protoss decide to get involved, Stukov? How far have you accounted for them?_

Wrex thudded his way through the bridge and towards the elevator, trying to resist his body's impulse to limp, trying to mute the occasional gasp of pain. People still gave him a wide berth as he walked, but that would likely have been their reaction even if Wrex was some buxom asari maiden. _Joker and Shepard … two relative xenophiles in a herd of bigots._ Wrex grinded his teeth, waiting on one leg for the elevator down to the armory. _Not that the krogan are the most hospitable towards aliens either._

When the elevator doors shut behind Wrex, he openly leaned against the wall while the elevator descended, taking deep and controlled breaths. _Fear not. If nothing else, you will still have your combat suit to prop you up. How many krogan can afford a suit of the same caliber down there? Aside from Wreav, I mean…_

Wrex almost stumbled out of the elevator, catching himself just barely. Grunt watched from the corner of the cargo bay with interest, his own face unscarred from the gauntlet on Korhal. _And he was even there for the hour of the zerg and Reaper._ Shepard, meanwhile, kneeled on one knee, the right wrist of her combat suit disassembled before her. She waved Wrex over with a quick smile, still mostly intent on her task.

"Still in pain?" she asked, giving Wrex pause as he approached. "Nothing to be ashamed of, me noticing. Seems to be a bit of a universal sensation. Even those Reaper things screamed a little as they got filled with bullets." Shepard snapped her wrist back into place, pulling back the metal and sliding it until it clicked. "I checked your suit, too. Might actually be in better condition now than it was going in. Alenko's doing. Make sure to say thanks."

"Grunt." Grunt lifted his head at Wrex's greeting. "What does Okeer say about Tuchanka?"

"A planet robbed of its potential beauty." It sounded so strange, hearing Grunt say that. His voice was far higher than Okeer's low rumble, and the way he stepped forward and looked so eager to please was a far cry from Okeer's … detachedness … but Wrex nevertheless heard the doctor's influence. "A long time ago, the tank mother claimed the planet did not suffer under self-inflicted nuclear winter. That the rubble did not extend as far as the eye could see. Now there is only dust, and the handful of creatures tough enough to endure. The krogan among them."

 _A curious view. I would have called it "home" and left it at that. Unless I were speaking to an alien._

"It is a harsh place, with harsh rules. A fine place to start before stepping into the galaxy at large." Wrex shrugged. "The rest always comes easier. We found the bellies of rachni nests far more hospitable than we did the planet of our birth. If you are truly krogan, you will adapt and persevere." He stepped into the armory and found his suit standing in place, almost scraping against the ceiling. A fresh red paint job made the thing almost shine, and Wrex could see little to no indication of just what a wreck the thing had been just weeks ago. Ammunition packs dotted the belt, and when Wrex turned the suit slightly, it was to see his massive gun planted on the back. _Hmm. Should be enough to survive Tuchanka._

Wrex activated his omnitool and cracked it open, bowing his head as he clambered inside the massive armor. _It will amplify the vestiges of my strength, turning it into something mighty enough to pass as krogan._

"He looks like a krogan to me," said Shepard, standing as Wrex hunched his way through the door. "And, nice. Not so easy to notice the limp now. So … what's the protocol for meeting with your old clan?"

Wrex sighed and briefly closed his eyes, putting the list in order. "I meet with my brother. We insult each other. I challenge him for leadership. He asks me where my krannt is. I point to you. He laughs. He consults the shaman for some reasons to block us. Eventually we'll have to face him down." Wrex laughed, a booming croak. "To save my people, you will have to end scores of them."

Shepard frowned. "Are they really that … tribalistic? No … I remember the dossier. The Genophage has done a number on you."

"The salarians enabled us to do a number on ourselves," boomed a deep voice from behind Wrex. He bared his teeth and turned to face the bound Okeer, an armored Jenkins and Williams to either side of him. Despite his wrists being bound together with thick steel, he still sneered and offered a mocking gesture to Wrex. "The future of the krogan, still clinging to his ill-conceived notions over what our people need. Do you plan to shatter the clans' strength with a combination of your personality and the assistance of these terrans? Hmm? Do you plan to acquiesce to their inevitable demands to begin expanding on their behalf?"

 _You know nothing of what I plan._ Wrex watched Okeer's bared teeth turn to a contemptuous smile, his eyes darting towards Grunt behind him. _Whatever the future of our people, it will not be brought about by staying the course … or listening to you. And these humans … they will play their role. And then we will see what their appropriate due will be._

"Coming in for a landing, ladies and gentlemen." Wrex's hearts beat a little faster. _At last. A proper homecoming._ "Local protoss garrison wants to see us groundside." Joker said it casually, but the reaction among the others was immediate. Jenkins looked to Williams and sighed, Okeer snorted in disbelief, while Shepard just looked thoughtful, slightly excited. _Yes … this will likely be the first time any of us have stood face to face with a protoss. I certainly missed my chance on Korhal. The homecoming grows stranger._

"Shape up, people." Anderson strolled from the elevator, Alenko in tow. "Protoss want to get a look at us, not sure why." He nodded to Wrex. "It's your show. We're just here to provide the muscle where need be. I'll leave the talking to you."

 _Yes. I am well renowned for my communication skills._ Wrex clicked his tongue, but still bowed his head in acknowledgement. _My neck aches._

"Really hope this doesn't turn violent." Alenko, stepping up next to Wrex, flexing his fingers, both flesh and false. "Say what you like about him, but I felt better knowing Duran was out there, cutting throats."

"Not gonna miss that smile of his." Williams's helmet covered her face once more with a snap. "But yeah, it's nice to have a ghost on your side. Hoping he hasn't gone AWOL with the intent of putting a knife between our ribs. Now: how likely is this gonna get violent?"

"Likely." Wrex listened to the whine of the ship's engines change in pitch as it screeched through the atmosphere, leaving the black behind. Wrex spared a glance for Okeer. "Mouth shut. Or I break a limb of my choosing."

Okeer opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again once Wrex narrowed his eyes almost immediately. _I'm tired, I'm falling apart, and I'm probably not the krogan for this … but at least I'm not a prisoner. At least I am not totally hated on the planet by those who remember me. At least I did not unleash infested krogan upon the galaxy._

"With me, Grunt." The younger krogan strode up to him, smaller and yet of such a more confident stride. The whining increased in pitch, and Wrex sensed the ship beginning to slow. He looked back at the assorted armored terrans. "Don't make eye contact. They will see it as a challenge. Do not back down if a krogan insults you or makes threats. They despise weakness. If in combat, do not stop firing into the skull once you've downed one. They tend to get back up."

"You heard the man," barked Anderson, emerging from the armory with a rifle slung over his back. "Everyone stocked up on the new medigel shit?"

"You sure you're not out of a job, Commander?" Williams nudged the medic with her elbow while everyone else muttered the affirmative. "All you have to do is slap this stuff on … doesn't even require any training."

"Right. I'll just let you stuff your intestines back in where they came from, then." Shepard folded her arms. "You can hold them in with one hand, apply medigel with the other."

"Point taken."

 _Normandy_ bounced once, and then a grinding clank echoed from below as the docking bay applied its clamps. _It's been two hundred years since I've been to this planet, last I checked. Almost six hundred since I've been here, where Clan Urdnot lies._

For a few moments, all went still. Then, slowly, the cargo bay doors parted, their muffled creak signaling the return of Urdnot Wrex to his ancestral home. He stepped forward, Grunt at his side, Okeer and the terrans behind. As he crossed the threshold from ship to shore, he breathed in the lingering dust of his homeworld, tainted with so much ash and blood, and sighed.

The predominant color remained gray, except of course when krogan spilled each other's blood. Then it became either bright red, or a horrible pink. The main feature of the landscape remained scorched rubble, except where krogan rested, there it became a sea of makeshift tents and sturdy prefab huts. The main cause of death among krogan remained, "krogan," unless of course they were in the vicinity of a thresher maw. _My home._

The hangar remained much as Wrex remembered it from his time long ago: the rubble was piled off to the corners and edges and forgotten about, the guards eyed the new arrivals with barely concealed suspicion and malice, and the only thing that looked even remotely maintained was the landing platform and actual docking mechanisms. _And that's more courtesy of the salarians and turians than anything else. If many krogan had their way, all other aliens would be unable to land on this planet._

There was one major new element, however. A great blue crystal banded by a strange metal ring hovered to the left of the entrance to the clan proper, its function unknown. In the far corner, a small squat golden structure sat against the squalor, something nestled in its center. And, of course, before the strange crystal, blocking their access to the rest of the clan, there he stood.

"I am Praetor Karass, legend among Templar, leader of the garrison here." Wrex and company paused. _That is not a boast. That is a mere statement of fact._ The Templar floated half a foot off the ground, his gold armor as innate as it was thick, a cloak of deep blue flowing behind him. His red eyes crackled with energy, but the protoss's demeanor otherwise appeared as calm and self-assured as his voice. He inclined his head and pressed his hands together. "I bid you welcome to this shattered world, although I do not know your purpose, nor your names."

"Urdnot Wrex," boomed Wrex, making the docking bay guards' heads turn. "I am here to reclaim my rightful place as leader of this clan, and lead the krogan race into the future."

Murmuring sprang from the krogans, while the protoss displayed no visible reaction, simply watching Wrex with what might have been idle curiosity.

"A bombastic claim, and not one I was anticipating." The protoss floated idly upwards, leveling with the docking platform and staring down at the assembled group of krogan and terrans. "My charge is that I prevent any outbreak of conflict amongst the various groups here, as well as to gradually cull the numbers of the infested. You fall outside the scope of my orders." _We're even, then. I never expected to meet one of your kind face to face … let alone on my homeworld._

"The apocalypse is coming. You will want the krogan. You will need the krogan." Wrex bared his teeth in a grin, trying to ignore the sharp and unexpected jab of pain in his jaw as he did so. "You have seen our people. Would that we had been mobilized for the march on Thessia."

"Indeed." Karass turned his head slightly, examining the terrans behind Wrex. "These Directorate humans … why do they tread upon this harsh land? I see into their mind and bear witness to their suspicions … they suspect their leadership sends them here for unsavory reasons, rather than to deter the darkness." Karass rose slightly higher in the air, his enormous armored feet now held above the landing platform itself. "What say you, Wrex?"

"I cannot speak for the humans. I came to claim my birthright and save my species." Wrex shrugged, irritation genuine. "I brought them for their strength of arms. Their agenda has no place here unless the krogan choose it to be so."

Wrex thought he heard Okeer cough, but when he turned to the doctor, he had given no sign of having opened his mouth. Grunt stared in open awe at the protoss, his expression unexpectedly mirroring Shepard's. The rest of them only stood their ground, staring at this … "legend."

"I have little experience in dealing with matters of arbitration." Karass lowered himself slightly, bringing himself almost level with Wrex, which meant that he got a very good view of just how tall the protoss were. "You intend to speak with Wreav, your brother, and expect conflict. I cannot permit this, but I bear little love for … that one. I will send Taldarin. He is wise in such matters, and will help defuse any potential violence." The protoss began to fade, his final words possessed of an ethereal echo. "Go in peace … but tread lightly. I have little patience for aggression, naked or otherwise."

"Is this normal?" asked Wrex once the protoss had fully dematerialized, his question directed at the docking guards, three pairs of them huddled together across the hangar. One, clad in dull red armor and larger than the others, stepped forward from the strange golden structure he stood near.

"The protoss banished all the salarians and turians from the orbit, cut up any krogan who resisted their coming, and planted a bunch of these … turrets … all over the planet." The krogan shrugged. "You picked a strange time to return, Wrex. None of this is normal."

"How fares Wreav in this new order?" Wrex descended the ramp, feeling the way his boots sunk into the dust atop the concrete. "Chafing?"

"Frustrated. Clan warfare was his life, and now the protoss have taken that all away." The krogan sounded uncertain. "More effective than the Umojans at ending conflict, I suppose, but at least the Umojans respected our traditions."

"Change does not come overnight. It is an arduous process, and it tends to begin and end in blood." Wrex shook his head. _What did the shamans tell me? Conflict is bred in our bones … to ignore or deny the bloodrage is to fail to accept our very core. Tuchanka bred us to be hard. We did not ape the salarians once we left this planet; we did not become effete creatures who slaved themselves to their females for the right to mate. We must accept and channel our instincts and biology, not suppress it … which is precisely what the protoss want._

"Take me to him." Wrex knew better than to phrase it as a question. He stared down from his suit into the eyes of the Guard Captain, seeing a glimmer of recognition in the krogan's eyes. _He might remember me from before I left. He certainly looks old enough. Probably one of the children…_

The captain knew better than to resist. They passed the strange protoss crystal in single file, a strange procession of armed humans and krogan striding through what little civilization Tuchanka had to offer. Past the pylon came the familiar cramped tunnel, which Wrex could see had plainly been widened in recent years, likely to account for the proliferation of CMC armor amongst the people. Even so, Wrex bowed his head at the entrance and exit, wary of inflicting dizziness upon himself. _I must maintain the appearance of strength._

The tunnel gave way to gaping space. In ages past it might have been the underside a krogan superhighway, built to survive both the passing of enormous krogan vehicles and the occasional barrage of artillery from rivaling clans. Now, it formed a vast enclave for the Clan Urdnot. Tents stretched in every direction that Wrex could see, broken only by mighty pillars that stood as a testament to long absent krogan engineering ingenuity, or occasional crushes of males, all of whom turned to face the interlopers.

And of course, to their right and at the head of it all, there stood the Urdnot throne, surrounded by towering krogan in CMC armor, skulls and ancient krogan runes painted on to their shoulders and the barrels of their guns, upon their lowered red-tinted visors.

Krogan laughed and pointed, gnashed their teeth and jeered as Wrex's retinue approached the throne, some in recognition of who he was, others simply on principle. At the very least, they would recognize the ( _poorly imitated, bloody terrans_ ) Urdnot clan symbols splashed upon the back and left shoulder of his armor, know him for who he was. _This is my homecoming. Trailed by a clanless, the progenitor of viscerators, and a squad of aliens._

Wreav sat upon the broken concrete throne that, had Wrex remained, would have been his. An elbow rested against one of the jagged arms, supporting a massive head as it casually turned to watch Wrex and his people ascend the dais without any apparent interest. Wrex lifted a hand once he deemed they had drawn close enough, causing a halt in the sounds of shuffling behind him. The guard captain stepped forward and kneeled before the throne, muttering introductions. Wreav was quick to shush him, instead rising and taking a few ponderous steps towards his guests.

"Well now," Wreav said in a voice as deep as Wrex's own, salted with contempt. "This is interesting." He stepped forward again, drawing close to Wrex and sniffing. "Hmm. I smell a thousand worlds upon you, brother. Yet barely any scent of Tuchanka!" Krogan yelled and pounded their fists together at this, either approving or acknowledging the challenge.

"You speak of remaining idle as if it were strength, Wreav." Wrex sniffed. "Where were you on Korhal, as the Earthers rained from the sky and the zerg made their resurgence? Where were you on the day Thessia fell, the hour the krogan should have proven their worth to the galaxy once more? What wealth and greatness have you won growing fat atop your throne?"

Ringing silence fell for a brief moment, followed by even louder hooting and a litany of muffled thuds as krogan fists knocked together. Wreav cracked a grin that was entirely without humor.

"I have remained with my people, keeping them strong even in the face of an ugly galaxy." Wreav inclined his head. "But I will acknowledge your prowess as a wandering mercenary, brother, if nothing else. Why do you come here? I thought your exit following the massacre in the Hollows was to be permanent."

"This clan can no longer afford my absence." Wrex balled his fists, ignoring the jab of pain. He gestured to his companions. "With me stand the United Earth Directorate, the terrans who conquered the Koprulu Sector in a matter of months. With me stands Grunt, a disciple of myself and the terran, Commander Shepard, a representation of our strength and the future of our species. And, of course, an old foe, cunning and intelligent, now at your mercy." Wrex reached for Okeer and pulled him forward, catching a glimpse of slight fear in his eyes. Okeer stood before Wreav, not cowering, but certainly nowhere near as at ease as he had been before. _And, if I've judged my brother right…_

He had. Wrex watched Wreav's eyes scan Okeer at length, the naked fires of greed and ambition alight in his beady little eyes. _You look to him and do not see the criminal that everyone else sees, a madman who unleashed the horrors known as viscerators upon the galaxy … you see a genius with no scruples and every reason to comply with your requests._

"An interesting gift, to bring one so hated." Wreav's eyes did not leave Okeer, who straightened, understanding what Wrex had done. _If I had tried to hide your presence or identity, it would go poorly for us._ Mutters rose from the krogan bystanders, a ripple of anger at the presence of one who had brought them all a great deal of pain. "I shall think on what to do with him." _Not for long you will not._ The guard captain stepped forward again, head bowed, and Wreav turned to him, irritation written on his face.

"Clan Chief, the protoss wish to send Taldarin to arbitrate. I suspect he will be here at any moment."

Wreav's irritation turned to shock and … fear? _Now, that's a sight to see._ Yet Wrex could not help but feel slightly ill-at-ease himself, his belly beginning to wriggle. _Karass described him as wise … but I sense that protoss wisdom comes hard-earned. Just as ours does._

Wreav turned to a well-lit corner adjacent to the throne dais. Light streamed in from a sizable gaping hole in the above surface, one Wrex did not recall being there during his last visit to the camp. As if on cue, the air began to shimmer, something enormous hurtling towards the empty space…

Krogan and terrans alike gasped and yelled as a massive quadruped made of shining gold metal materialized before them. Gargantuan twin guns protruded from the machine's arms, and the air hummed with nascent energy, the very air itself in anticipation for what this colossal protoss construct would do. The … thing, turned towards the dais, its guns twitching but nevertheless not facing towards any living thing in the camp, instead pointing resolutely above them all. From the machine, a great voice boomed:

"I am Taldarin! First of the dragoons, first of the immortals! I am he who spoke with Adun a millennia ago, who tutored mighty Templar such as Tassadar, Artanis, and Fenix. You know little of protoss lore, but through my myriad titles, I hope you gain a glimpse of my purpose and intent: to instruct, and if necessary, to castigate."

"I am Urdnot Wrex, would be chief of Clan Urdnot, older brother of Urdnot Wreav!" Wrex stepped forward immediately, trying to control the limp, the pains riddling his body, the fear in his twin hearts. "I come here alongside the United Earth Directorate to seek the title which is rightfully mine!"

"He has no place to do this!" Wreav stepped forward as well, but Wrex sensed that the clan had noticed just who was first to recover. _Leaders such as Wreav only have brute force and tradition to prop up their rule. And those are two banners so easily taken up by others, particularly when one of them flags …_ "He fled this planet long ago, in shame and in infamy! He forsook his duty to Clan Urdnot, defiled the sanctity of the Hollows, and even murdered his own-"

There came a moment, every now and again, of perfect clarity, one where Wrex's purpose and the will of the people around him coalesced into a beautiful instant of perfect recklessness coupled with overwhelming force. Wrex's vision flashed red and he turned Wreav around by the shoulder, all pains forgotten, the watching protoss death machine all but irrelevant. Holding Wreav in place, Wrex pulled his head back … and then forward, full force.

Wreav staggered backwards before falling flat on his ass, his hands grasping for the already blossoming bruise atop his head, nestled neatly between his eyes. Taldarin's weapons swiveled, suddenly locked with Wrex, but Wrex did not care. He towered over Wreav, who moaned in pain while the crowds behind him roared.

"You whine like a quarian with a belly ache, Wreav. Always have." Wrex pounded his chest plate. "This armor has seen countless battlefields, felt the blood of terrans, batarians, turians, salarians, asari, vorcha, even zerg splash upon it. It is paid for by a legacy of success, of a string of jobs well done across worlds you will never see." Wrex traced the symbol of Clan Urdnot on his shoulder with a single armored finger. "They know not the name of this emblem, but everyone who crossed me knows what it means for them. Death. Defeat. My travels have afforded Urdnot respect, for all that gaze upon our symbol know that strength flows from it. Strength through my actions. I proclaim my might and my intent to this protoss, Wreav. I do not beg. I do not point fingers." A ripple of laughter and approval reached Wrex's ears, barely audible over the roaring of the blood through his veins.

"There are two ways this can proceed: either we struggle through whatever methods the protoss deem acceptable, a struggle in which my victory is assured, or I thank you graciously for acting as regent in my place, keeping the throne warm." Wrex glanced up at Taldarin. "I will not decimate this clan through a struggle. There are rites of ascension that do not require open conflict. This is to be the beginning of a new age of unity for us, not another hour of bloodshed."

Wreav opened his mouth to respond only to vomit forth a vile brown and green mixture, making Wrex curl his lip in equal disgust and satisfaction. _I may have concussed him. Shepard may have to apply medical attention. I'd rather not kill my brother unless there were no other option … a sentiment I am sure he does not share, but nonetheless._

"I sense truth in your words, but I remain unfamiliar with your customs." Taldarin did not move his guns from Wrex's body. "Shaman of the Urdnot clan! Come forth and speak of what the traditions would have of these brothers Urdnot!"

"I swear these protoss talk like a bloody romance novel…" The Captain, likely palming his face with his hands. _These are matters of import, human. Lofty language is appropriate here. Even if the protoss seem unable to speak any way else._

The shaman stepped forward, his cloth adornment simple, scars crossing every inch of his visible skin and plate. When his eyes met with Wrex's, Wrex noted the moment of recognition. _Ah. I remember your name, although I am forbidden to even speak of it. I am pleased you_ _made it to shamanhood at last._

"Long have we awaited the return of this wayward son, the Battlemaster, Urdnot Wrex!" boomed the shaman. "His accomplishments have reached our ears and pleased both the clan and his ancestors, yet his return is overdue. Many rites need to be performed to make certain that he remains krogan in mind and body, that these alien allies of his have not polluted his spirit. It is not enough to simply claim the throne of Urdnot, it must be earned."

Wrex heaved a sigh, eyes rolling towards his terran allies, those with opened visors looking like they were about to burst into either tears or laughter. _Of course. It can never be so easy._

"You bring a clanless before us!" continued the shaman, stepping off the dais towards Grunt, whose skin flushed slightly as the older krogan approached. "One who you claim is of a twin heritage, taught by terrans and krogan both. How came you here, whelp? What can you offer to Clan Urdnot?"

"I am born of the tank mother, a contraption of Okeer, the father I reject." Wrex wished he could turn around to see Okeer's face at that, but this was Grunt's moment, and he would not miss just what the young one would say. "I am the product of his research, once he discarded his plans for the viscerators. I am everything a krogan should be, and more. I am distilled from the ideologies and bloodlines of Krelag, Skarr, and Shiagur. I am studied in krogan history and architecture, stretching before even the Uplift. I can fire and maintain weaponry, clean wounds, hunt prey, and match wits with any amongst you. I am his vision of what a krogan should be, modeled after the Old Ways and the zerg: adaptable, knowledgeable, and strong."

"Through Wrex I gain purpose and mighty enemies to fight. His clan name is the reason I stand before you today. I witnessed in awe his bloodrage upon the surface of Korhal, as he sustained wounds that would have felled any lesser creature. I followed him here, that I might continue in his tutelage." The young krogan paused, blue eyes swiveling to Shepard. He shifted in place. "From Shepard I learned of a new perspective, of staying the hand where it might prove beneficial, of finding strength not only through rage, but through duty and love of one's comrades; a krannt born of allied goals rather than blood. Without her armor, she is weak physically, but she is a warrior I cannot hope to match, for she has bested all foes without ever slaying them herself. Without her, I would have fallen upon Korhal." _That … is not true. I was the one … ah. Clever whelp. But be warned: the protoss can sense falsehood._

Yet Taldarin remained silent, his guns slowly rising away from Wrex's body. Wreav moaned on the ground.

"An impressive speech," said the shaman to the approval of the crowd, "but your constitution must nevertheless be tested. If what you say is true … if you are truly as strong as you say, and you represent what might be gained through the acceptance of your fathers both false and chosen … then a change in leadership would be appropriate." The shaman stared back at Taldarin with narrowed eyes, daring to glare at the protoss. "So long as you find it … _appropriate._ "

"The young Grunt will undergo the Rite, and if he passes, Wrex will be clan leader," boomed Taldarin, to muffled applause. "If not, then you may do with him as you see fit. So long as you do not war upon yourselves, there will be no call for me to take action."

"You must choose your krannt, Grunt," said the shaman, nodding to the krogan. "It is traditional to take two, two of those willing to kill for your name and honor." The shaman paused, staring at Wrex, sadness in his eyes. "Given the nature of these proceedings, it would be … inappropriate for you to choose Wrex. But anyone else will do."

"Shepard," called out Grunt immediately, bringing a smile to the medic's face, "and … Anderson."

"Oh for fuck's sake," muttered Anderson in disbelief. He was not alone in his confusion: krogan and his terran compatriots alike looked to each other in disbelief. _Without any hesitation he selects two aliens. Unheard of. But … why Anderson?_

"Then let it be so." The shaman raised his hands and the krogan dispersed; the Rite was typically a private matter once the krannt was chosen. The shaman pulled Wreav to his feet and roughly sat him on his throne. Taldarin looked on still, evidently not done "arbitrating."

Wrex approached Grunt alongside his krannt, pounding him lightly on either shoulder. "Well spoken, whelp. If nothing else, you've advocated for the value of a nutrient tank education." Wrex laughed, but Grunt only looked embarrassed. "Now – why these two?"

"UED medics will let me fight forever," said Grunt, nodding to Shepard. "And I know that Shepard will not abandon me, or flag if the going gets tough. And I chose the Captain because he is the best fighter, because he wants to go home the most." _Well. He does at that._

"Yeah, but he doesn't handle the heavy weapons," grumbled Williams, actually sounding a bit put out. "Shit, I kinda thought you were going to pick Jenkins for the whole "too young and stupid to feel afraid," factor."

"Are people really fighting about not getting picked for alien death rites now?" Anderson shook his head before offering a small bow to Grunt. "It is … still an honor. I will do my best to see both of us home."

"I knew you would." Grunt gave a series of low laughs, cut off abruptly by the shaman stepping through the ring of onlookers.

"Whelps typically are not informed of the location of the Rite," said the shaman, casting a bitter look at Okeer, who waited on the dais with an impassive expression on his face, pointedly refusing to stare at Grunt, "but circumstances have changed this. The Keystone … you remember it, Wrex?"

"Of course." _Staring down a thresher maw with little more than a shotgun and a belly full of rage … how could I forget?_

"Once it was maw country, and the child would be forced to stand against them for as long as they could." The shaman paused, sucking in a deep breath.

"Now, of course, it is viscerator country. Whatever you might bring with you, be sure it includes fire. And a means of countering biotics."

Shepard gave a slow nod while Anderson let loose a small whistle. And Grunt, to Wrex's approval, simply laughed. _Well. Grunt looks poised to have a far more exciting Rite than mine._

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Garrus**

 **A/N: Bitch of a chapter to write ... but I've been really looking forward to the next two, so it all balances out.**


	39. Darker, Yet Darker

**Garrus**

"Thought I'd be glad to get off Illium." Saren looked up to Garrus as he spoke, adopting the same pose as him in the process; gun held by the barrel against the floor, head up, back straight against the seat. "Now … now I'm wondering what we're up against next."

Saren shrugged, and Garrus noted the lopsidedness of his shoulder, the slight unevenness of the metal arm compared to the flesh and blood one. _This entire galaxy still bears too many marks from the last war. You could see it on Illium. Now the protoss are claiming they can fix everything. Well, I'm more inclined to believe them than our own councilor, at least…_

"Took too long to get in the air," replied Saren bluntly. "You'd think for someone so invested in finding who's causing these attacks, Zeratul would have hurried back from the Koprulu Sector." Garrus noted the slight deepening of the voice and the shifting of the mandibles as Saren spoke the Templar's name. _Last I checked, the Dark Templar weren't the ones who burned our ships … or the reason Nova went missing._

Garrus prided himself on being able to spot a stationary target without a scope from practically any distance, but he'd never managed the same knack with spotting emotional disturbances … but Saren's distress was not subtle. _How many times have you checked that QEC now? How many news reports have you gone through? Everyone's wondering where the Crown Prince's body went … not Nova's._

Garrus paused, listening for the whine of the ship's engines. There was nothing. The protoss vessel did not emit any kind of exhaust from what he could tell when it landed on Illium, it made little to no noise as it took off, and Garrus found no trace of element zero in any of the design elements. In physical appearance, the ship resembled a flying mass relay more than anything else, made up of a (small) cargo bay in the aft that connected directly to the cockpit, and then consisted of a series of bare corridors that tingled with energy. _Part of the ship's weapon system._ Zeratul and Legion called it a "Star Relic." Garrus thought of it as simply an oddity. _It's reassuring, though. Knowing we have protoss backing._

Garrus stared over at the door to the cockpit, impatient and anxious for it to be over all at once. Kerrigan's lengthy descriptions and plans for assault did little to assuage any doubts he had. _Only one major entrance she can see. Terrifying atmospheric conditions. Strong chance of Dark Templar and operative presence._

The operatives at least did not scare him; nailing two dozen of them in the head with a rifle did not convince him of them being anything more than upjumped Terminus trash, but the Dark Templar … _I have to stay close to the powerhouses. No point overheating my weapon trying to shoot something I can't see._

"That Justicar wants me dead." Garrus's eyes refocused as Saren spoke, his tone blunt. "A lot of people have been punished for Tarsonis already, but I guess I'm still not one of them. A lot of asari died that day." Saren tilted his head. "Strange. Every time someone brings it up, they make the assumption that Victus would not have been able to find anyone else that would have been willing. That someone else would have simply planted the emitter that day."

"It says something about the person who accepts that task." Saren's eyes narrowed at Garrus's rebuke, his arms shifting to his knees as he leaned his head forward. "We both know it would have been a futile gesture to refuse … but it would have been an acknowledgement of its loathsomeness."

"So you stand with the likes of Jim Raynor on this, then?" _He still refers to him as "Jim…" probably the only turian to use the terran shorthand. Sounds strange coming from him._ Saren's mandibles shifted upwards in defiance. "Even when everyone got what they wanted in the end? The terrans stood against the zerg, Mengsk later died at Jim's hand, and I … I am demonized by the entire galaxy for the leaked footage. I do not deny that I deserve it. I simply deny that I am in need of further punishment."

Garrus stared at the bareface, uncertain of how to respond. _It's true, even I can tap into that outrage and think that you should at least be put on trial … your lack of outward regret makes that doubly easy. But who could go through with such a decision and remain untouched by it? Who can determine, with a decision of that scale, just what kind of punishment would be appropriate? The protoss? Heh, no. This is a turian decision … and a terran one, to a lesser extent._

"Making you a Spectre was the smart move, putting you outside that decision, the regular chain of command." Garrus nodded. "Victus's decision, wasn't it? You became a retroactive Spectre?"

"Yes." Saren's eyes now avoided Garrus's face. "He redeemed himself in the end, didn't he? It was far more his decision than mine to go ahead with Mengsk's plan, but no one ever cast doubt on his character past Thessia. I'm just…" Saren shook his head suddenly. "…that day defined the characters of so many people. An act of such magnitude that it could not be recovered from. It turned Raynor into a revolutionary, destroyed Kerrigan's faith in any kind of authority, revealed Mengsk as a brutal autocrat. It left me somewhere in the middle. Not a villain, for I merely followed orders. But not a hero either, for I did not question." Saren lifted a hand, stared at it. "I should have been the one to pull the trigger on Mengsk. It would have ended so much discussion. But no, Raynor wanted his moment. So here we are." Saren glared at Garrus. "You had your moment, too. With the freighter. Fortunately it was one that went easily forgotten, wasn't it? And there was no question on whether it was right or wrong."

"I went against orders to do what I thought was the right thing." Garrus did not look away. "You obeyed yours. We were both wrong."

"And so now we both ape Victus: seeking redemption through self-destruction." Saren waved off Garrus's sharp attempt at a reply. "You became a vigilante hell-bent on going out in glory, I submitted my honor as a turian to Nova and turned all my attention towards being the best Spectre I could be. A death of identity, to atone for the planet that swallowed it whole. What will history will record me as? "The Executioner of Tarsonis." I may as well accept this."

"If you cannot get beyond it, no one else will." Garrus was not even sure Saren was listening at this point, so he stood from his seat. "Going to check on how long until our arrival."

"I am beyond it," Saren growled, before making an irritated sweeping motion towards the cockpit door. "You do that."

Garrus left the bitter husk of a turian behind to instead crowd behind the baffling array of diversity that was the cockpit. Samara, Legion, and Kerrigan stood behind the hulking form of Zeratul in his chair, the star-filled void glittering before them.

"…certain that no one else has been informed?" Kerrigan's hand rested on Zeratul's shoulder, her tone of voice and body language suggesting impatience.

"Artanis, Razagal, and Aldaris are the only ones who know." Zeratul himself sounded slightly out of patience as well. "Bringing in the fleet – or even just a handful of Templar – would end this threat quickly. I struggle to see the possibility of Ulrezaj or Kythos, as fellow disciples of Tassadar himself, would be involved in dismantling everything he held dear."

"No one saw the Nerazim going rogue. There are traitors in your number, and I'm not taking any chances." Kerrigan released her grip on Zeratul. "We end this ourselves."

"In event of death, we have established a secure extranet database." The geth whirred and clicked. "Every two days, it requests a password. We input the password. If the password is not input, the database goes public. It includes all available data on Reapers and Shadow Broker. Including Shadow Broker location." Legion paused. "Even if this form is destroyed and the Broker somehow removes our backed up copy, there is nothing more for him to do. He is exposed. It is up to us to choose the nature of his exposure."

"Yeah. See? Nothing wrong with going in alone." Kerrigan looked back to Garrus and gave him a reassuring smile. "Even if we bite it, the Broker's toast."

"Oh. No need to bring my best, then." Garrus nodded to Samara and Legion as he stepped forward, joining the other two before the void.

"Hagalaz is beyond sight, yet we draw close." Zeratul looked up to Garrus. "You are troubled."

"Saren Arterius puts me in a weird mood." Garrus didn't really know how else to put it. "I'd be curious to know what the protoss have to think about Tarsonis."

"The Khalai often feel ill-equipped to judge, having destroyed a handful of planets and civilizations of their own through accident or overreaction." Zeratul's voice was stony. "As for we Nerazim … we try to take a more practical view. It was a terran concern, chiefly, and the terrans eventually dealt with it. Mengsk is dead. Saren suffers in the cargo bay, trying to cling to his hatred of the protoss to drown out his hatred of himself. If nothing else, the sheer number of casualties inflicted on the zerg during Tarsonis made Thessia a much more survivable affair had it been otherwise. By the time the Overmind manifested, much of the zerg broods in the Koprulu Sector had been bled dry."

 _So … you're taking the "unfortunate but ultimately beneficial" view? Wonder how Raynor would feel about that. Heh._

"I'm guessing your view is a little less … flexible." Kerrigan gave a half-smile to Samara, who inclined her head.

"In light of other threats, the Code can wait." Samara stared back into the cockpit. "But … there is no compromise. When this mission is done, I must kill Saren Arterius." _And that will be a fight to behold._

"There are millennia old Templar on Aiur, Judicator-pledged warriors who only look upon my kind with seething hate," said Zeratul, looking back at Samara. "Powerful beings, whose minds can be changed about as easily as the rotation of the galaxy. They nevertheless speak with only a fraction of the finality you do when they say we Nerazim will be the protoss's ultimate undoing, my lady."

"I will take that as the highest compliment, Prelate." Samara inclined her head, stately and impressive as ever, even when addressing one of the most dangerous warriors alive.

"If nothing else, it is certainly impressive." Zeratul turned back, nodded. "Hagalaz approaches, my friends. Brace yourselves. I will join you for the drop momentarily."

They filed back into the bay together, joining Saren in sitting with their weapons against the floor, staring in mixed anticipation at one another. _It will certainly be a … unique operation._

"We shouldn't have to worry about CMC suits or any kind of heavy infantry inside the ship itself," said Kerrigan, probably for the fifth time. "Whenever this ship was made, it was clearly before the Koprulu Sector opened. Dark Templar are going to have a hard time moving around as well … but still, double-check your advanced optics on your helmets."

Garrus removed his helmet from his belt and planted it firmly on his head. _Well … it says they're operational._ He turned it on, only to get a momentary headache for all the pings on the motion sensor; Saren's feet tapping steadily against the metal floor.

"We have biotics, psionics, and some of the best shooters in the galaxy." Kerrigan issued a thumbs up to everyone present, but Garrus could only wonder if Samara and Legion knew what that meant. "We take out the Broker and secure whatever data he has, we win this."

 _For a given definition of "win." This is just another stage of a long campaign._ Every element of Garrus felt tense, from his legs, to his gut, to his neck. _Part of it is the circumstances. Boarding a ship during a permanent lightning storm to face down the Broker of all people … that's tough._ His eyes flicked to Kerrigan, then. _And, I'll admit, I'm a little worried about some of us getting hurt. Even if that sentiment is stupid._ Garrus nodded to himself when Kerrigan did not respond. _Good. Means I'm getting better at the whole, "guarding" thing._

The ship rocked suddenly, making Garrus's gut twinge. _Outside, the storm rages on._

"We have determined optimum path to Broker location." Legion rose from his seat, not shaking at all as the ship was buffeted again by the powerful winds. "Follow our lead. We will scan for hostiles."

"There is something wrong with the ship profile." Zeratul's voice sounded from the cockpit, a tone of faint unease nestled within. "It is not consistent with what Kerrigan showed me. Twenty seconds. We will have a better view soon enough."

 _Well. That's ominous._ The ship rocked again.

The cockpit door slid open to reveal Zeratul, his tall silhouette somehow reassuring.

"Adun toridas," he said, and the cargo doors screamed open, revealing a hellish skyscape of jagged lightning and angry rolling clouds, an explosive byproduct of a lengthy day/night cycle.

Kerrigan jumped from the ship first without any fear, before even Legion began his strangely stiff plummet. Garrus and Saren brought up the rear behind Zeratul and Samara, whose own descent actually appeared somewhat graceful. Garrus and Saren simply landed with bent legs, rising with their weapons trained on the ship surface before them.

"This is a marvel of engineering." Of all people, Zeratul was the one to say this, his head turning each way to examine the smooth surface of the ship. "I have only rarely been impressed by any technology … but the phase smiths of the Khalai themselves would be hard-pressed to design something of this size, to survive in this atmosphere in perpetuity."

Garrus was inclined to agree. From where they stood, all they could see was the smooth hull, stretching in either direction. But in the distance, lightning struck against the ship to no apparent effect, and the course of the vessel remained smooth and unchanged, even as the winds howled around them. Zeratul's ship departed with an almost clumsy manner in comparison, lifting from the Broker's ship while wobbling from the crazed winds, shields occasionally flaring as lightning flashed and struck the hull.

"It will wait in orbit until we are done." Zeratul brought Garrus's attention back to earth, to the task at hand. "Legion, I will follow your lead."

"Acknowledged." Legion proceeded forward, towards the edge of the craft and following a pathway that Garrus could only guess was intended for the usage of sapients. _Are people truly supposed to be on the surface of this thing?_ He could only guess. Checking his footing and moving only as fast as he felt comfortable, he brought up the rear of the group, trying not to look down into the roiling fury below.

"What did you mean when you said the profile was wrong?" asked Kerrigan, struggling to make herself heard over the din. "Zeratul?"

"It did not match what you showed me. There are protrusions further on."

 _Protrusions?_

"Scans detect no signs of life." Legion did not sound perturbed in the slightest. "Ship maintains steady course. Protrusions do not appear to interfere with ship's flight capabilities."

Thunder roared while the wind screamed. They crept along with their heads bowed, trees bending in the face of a gale. As the horizon flashed white again, Garrus caught a glimpse of _something_ that stood out against the otherwise smooth outline of the ship.

"There."

Following Legion's careful footsteps, they surrounded the "protrusion" with caution, unsure of what to make of it. A rounded dark blue piece of metal, coated with thick wires that stretched from its surface and into the ship proper. From what Garrus could see, it did not look like any kind of debris that might have been thrown into the storm, but rather something that had been added, as if by some kind of afterthought. It fit perfectly into the hole it had made for itself, leaving not a trace of ruined or jagged metal.

"There is a psionic resonance." Kerrigan glanced at Zeratul. "You feel it?"

"This ship is an abomination." Zeratul's voice shook as he said it, making Garrus take a step back. _How quickly he goes from complimenting it to declaring it an abomination._ "This … this is unnatural."

"Detect four similar energy signatures on surface of hull." Legion, at least, did not sound as if it cared too much. "Similar signatures below. Broker vessel appears extensively modified."

"This vessel should be destroyed by orbit." Zeratul turned to Kerrigan. "But … there are answers here, are there not? The Broker must be found. I must nevertheless urge maintaining distance from this technology." Zeratul turned back to it. "It is … unclean."

"Reaper tech?" Saren asked the question, but received only silence. As they turned away to continue on their path, Garrus took a final glance at that dull monolith, lodged in the side of the vessel like some swollen parasite. _Something about it makes it hard to look at … but also hard to turn away._ He nevertheless found the strength to do so, mostly through fear of slipping or inadvertently bumping into the person in front of him, possibly tripping them.

The path twisted and turned, distressingly free of guard rails at all points. They passed by yet another twisted heap of metal and wiring burrowed into the ship, but paid it as little mind as they could. Garrus's eye became instead drawn to the glowing pillars that channeled electricity along their route, catching the lightning from above and sending it twisting and wrapping about its base.

"Lightning conduits," said Kerrigan shortly, apparently sensing someone's question. "Good way to stop the lightning hitting anything delicate. Might even help power the ship, for all I know."

Garrus maintained a healthy distance, wincing every time lightning slammed into the conduits and made them crackle with barely restrained energy. Slowly, so slowly, they appeared to be nearing the other side of the ship.

"There's the entrance," said Kerrigan, pointing, finger inadvertently straying to the right, to where another mass of parasitic technology wrapped around half the door frame and covered the part of the ship above it. "It looks like Legion was right. The inside is probably coated with this shit as well."

"I would know the nature of this "shit" before we proceed." Samara, calming Garrus with a tone of utter calm. "I am not psionically attuned. Zeratul?"

"It will cause no physical or mental harm." Zeratul gazed at Samara with what Garrus perceived as a weary expression. "That is the function of those who crafted it, not the technology itself. To answer Saren, yes, I believe the origin of this … infestation … rests with the Reapers."

"We concur with this assessment." Legion stared at the sealed door with his single glowing eye. "Remains consistent with what we have seen of Sovereign's interior. Recommend minimizing exposure to organics, regardless. The metal…" Legion paused. "…the metal craves the flesh."

"That's not fucking creepy." Kerrigan placed her hands on her hips, staring into the darkness. "Still … didn't come out here just to lose my nerve at the Shadow Broker's interior decorating. Are you sure you detect no life signs, Legion?"

"There are no signs of _life_ in the immediate area." Legion left another pregnant pause while everyone turned to him. "We do detect motion in the hallways. Recommend caution."

No one moved, simply staring at the door and the twisting metal and wires that latched on to it, reminding Garrus bizarrely of some kind of cybernetic umbilical cord. _Ugh. What is it about this shit that brings out the worst kind of comparisons in me?_

"What is there to be afraid of?" Saren turned to Kerrigan. "We've seen planets die." He stepped forward with all the audacity of a child trying to convince his friends that what he was doing was in no way a bad idea. The maw of the ship opened, the wires twisting with the door as it opened.

"Didn't even have to knock," muttered Garrus, shouldering his rifle and following Saren, taking the lead this time. _Into the darkness._

The two of them activated the lights on their rifles almost in unison, shining them into the near pitch black darkness. Garrus had half-expected, half outright hoped that the interior would just be a blend of the smooth featureless architecture and the mess of mystery metal and strangely organic looking wires, but instead it was an outright … _well, infestation is the best word for it, isn't it?_

Wires hung from the ceiling in thick clumps, meaty vines that hummed with an undeniable energy. The shadows leaped over the walls as Saren and Garrus adjusted the flashlights on their guns, making Garrus constantly glance to his right and left as he swore he saw distant figures, faces disfigured. Strange lumpy growths grew from the walls in a grotesque parody of life, motionless when Garrus gazed upon them, seeming to swell and twitch when the flashlight was focused elsewhere. Even through the mask, Garrus caught a whiff of ozone.

"This ship is an _abomination!_ " spat Zeratul again, gazing upon the corridors with eyes narrowed in fury, his anger and size presenting a comforting figure to Garrus. "Quickly now, to the cause of this. I am torn between my desire to see this ship _burned_ and the duty I have to the galaxy in presenting this evidence of the coming Armageddon. Perhaps I will leave it to the Matriarch to decide."

"It is a rare occasion for a Justicar to feel out of place in doing her duty." Samara did not sound out of place, however, her stately figure seeming to glide amidst the perverted ruin, a spirit of beauty and justice standing tall above the putrescence. "I would see our task done with speed, if at all possible."

The only light aside from what they brought were the strange sacks of … metal and wiring along the walls, which glowed with a series of irregular blue lights on its exterior. The corridors turned and the corruption grew denser, the walls turning from a thick mess of mixed blue and gray metal to something resembling the gullet of a beast, forming ridges on the ceiling that likewise glowed with bright blue lights. It almost seemed a shock when they stopped before a massive black door which displayed no sign of the infection, barring the tendrils of black that crept in at the edges.

"There is a single life sign detected in this room." Legion stepped forward, staring at the door.

"Did you hear that?" Saren whipped around, his beam of light dancing behind him, making Garrus jump. "Footsteps."

"There's nothing, Saren." Kerrigan joined Legion, expression impossible to determine behind her mask. "This is where the movement is. At long last." She stepped towards the door, which opened with a mild hiss. She looked back towards Garrus who, with a sigh, suppressed the thundering of his heart and crossed the threshold with her.

Dim lights activated from overhead, filling the room with a soft amber. Four pillars surrounded a solid orb of the heinous blue metal, which Garrus swore quivered and pulsed when he did not look. More wires hung from the ceiling, crawling and slithering across the metal. When all six of them had entered, the door slid shut behind them.

"You were expected."

A voice, deep, deeper than anyone Garrus had ever heard before, coming from the orb of metal. Garrus's heart caught in his mouth, but nothing moved. No one spoke.

"Spectre authority no longer carries much weight, Kerrigan, to leave you stranded on Illium for so long." The deep voice took on a slightly mocking tone, but otherwise presented no trace of emotion. "It must be a blow, to be slowly rendered irrelevant. For all of your power, what have you truly accomplished?"

"You must be the Shadow Broker." Kerrigan took a certain step forward, her rifle against her shoulder, pointing towards the sphere. "Any reason you're hiding from us? You said you were expecting us, after all."

"I am not hiding." Blunt, final. Garrus did not doubt the Broker's words for an instant. _Something else is at play here … is he a prisoner? What is going on?_

"Legion, check those computers over there, see if we can't get him to come out of there." Kerrigan pointed to a series of terminals on the far side of the wall, blissfully untouched by the corruption.

"Acknowledged."

"Strange to be accused of hiding by one so deeply in denial." The Broker sounded bored. "Sarah Kerrigan. First terran Spectre. A meaningless title now, as meaningless as any of your accomplishments. The most notable action of yours was the slaying of Angus Mengsk, for which you were not conscious." Garrus glanced at Kerrigan, who remained motionless, gun still fixed on the Broker's prison. "Raynor still wonders why you didn't follow him. Concluded that some people had a different measure of right and wrong. Tortured him to think about it, for a time. Then he overcame his feelings of doubt. And affection. He is a stranger to you now."

"It's only natural," replied Kerrigan, voice calm. "We're still friends."

"It was too much for you to inform him of the real reason, wasn't it, Sarah?" The Broker's voice suddenly became a great deal less impersonal. "To be the most powerful psionic at the Council's disposal, able to dictate fully the course of your own future and act unopposed by any alien, all of whom relied on your power to counter and understand the threat of Mengsk's ghosts … the ability to kill any enemy of your choosing with the Council's blessing … such a heady feeling, that freedom. To not be beholden to any agency, restrained by any law. You did not follow Raynor because you thought he was wrong. You did not follow him because it meant sacrificing too much."

"That's … that's not true." Kerrigan's rifle nevertheless wavered. Garrus spread out alongside Saren and Samara, facing the sphere with their weapons trained upon it. Zeratul could no longer be seen, but Garrus knew he waited anxiously for the Broker to be exposed. "You're wrong."

"You accuse me of hiding. Rank hypocrisy." The Broker laughed, a terrible sound of rolling thunder, louder and more distressing than any of the winds outside. "Your recent surgery undermines any argument of goodwill. You seek power, for you refuse to be leashed again regardless of the cost. Accountability. Restraint. Sacrifice. Foreign concepts to Sarah Kerrigan, former slave of the Confederacy. In trying to form your own antithesis to the past, you resemble it more every passing moment. A slave to your desire for power. For freedom."

Kerrigan did not respond, but Garrus saw the way her finger began to squeeze the trigger of her rifle before slowly relaxing.

"Sphere will take time," called out Legion, a wire stretching from his head to the computer. "Running bypasses."

"Legion. Kerrigan named you after a biblical passage." The Broker's attention turned to Legion, which somewhat baffled Garrus. _I don't think you can intimidate a machine, fool._ "Astonishing, the lengths you have gone to reunite your creators with your people. Have you finally come to the logical conclusion? That their blind hatred and rewritten history will forever prevent the unification you crave?"

"Geth never anticipated Reapers," replied Legion, not turning towards his accuser. "We never anticipated protoss. Nor alliance with organics of any kind. The future is not certain. Probability still dictates a non-zero chance of eventual creator return to Rannoch."

"Their religious texts demand your destruction. Their disfigured family trees demand your destruction. Their very collective being demands your destruction. Your continued faith in those quarian animals is illogical."

"We … we do not deny this." Garrus winced at that response, somehow sensing pain in the mechanical tones. _How far away are the geth from becoming a true AI?_ His own trigger finger tightened.

"At least you do not hide from the truth. I respect idealists to a far greater extent than those in denial." The Broker laughed again. "Saren. Your secrets have been laid bare to the galaxy. Murderer of planets. Raynor's betrayer."

"I would do it again if the situation demanded it." Saren's voice shook. _I guess he was right. No one is ever going to let him get past this … not until the day he dies. If even then._ "I have no regrets."

"Your prayers to your ancestors every night do little to further your argument." Saren's form stiffened. "Five million credits donated to Dominion charities for Tarsonis refugees … an act of high charity? Or a simple means of assuaging a mangled conscience? From your comments, I would guess the latter. Your own brother has refused to defend your actions to the Primarch, saying that you have always been an outlier among the Arterius family, willing to commit deeds far beyond the pale of what they would condone."

"I will need evidence of this," snarled Saren. "My brother would never say such things!"

"He already has. And you are a fool if you believe his love of you outstrips his love of country, or his love of position." The Broker sounded bored again. "You are far too easily stripped down to your base, Saren Arterius. Your doubts lie exposed to the galaxy. I will relieve you of them. James Raynor will never forgive you, Tarsonis will never be forgotten, and any possibility of joining your ancestors as anything other than a memory best left forgotten died with Adrien Victus. Now it is out in the open. Now you can begin to accept the reality of your situation, of the consequences of following your orders with such unerring efficiency."

"Don't listen to him, Saren!" called out Garrus, all-too-aware that his moment of charity meant that he was next. Saren, for his part, only looked away, the helmet obscuring his face … but the way his body bent slightly showed the damage that had been done.

"Garrus Vakarian. Kerrigan's obvious Raynor replacement." Garrus sighed and shook his head, anxiously awaiting the moment Legion opened the sphere and let him ventilate this cloaca. _Probably a volus using a voice modulator. Certainly annoying enough to be one._ "Your pursuit of justice has led you here. Or was it pursuit of vengeance? You straddle the line so closely."

"I'm trying to be more about the justice these days." Garrus kept his tone light, but the constant barrage of analysis and the grotesque metal decorations were wearing his nerves thin. "But killing you? It's going to be a little bit of both."

"You make a poor turian." _Well, that's a fair assessment._ "Questioning orders. Obeying your father's demands over the demands of the galaxy. Fighting alongside protoss while they enslave your nation. Unleashing Kerrigan, jeopardizing everything for the sake of giving her more power. Your every action sends devastating ripples. Are you prepared to face them?"

"I thought I already had." Garrus's grip on his trigger tightened.

"By destroying a single freighter, you are responsible for over fifty civilian deaths, putting you on record as the most incompetent turian C-Sec officer in three hundred years." Garrus froze at that. _Fifty?_

"Twenty-seven inside the freighter. Another thirteen to traffic accidents caused by debris. Ten indirect, suicide and assorted health conditions arising from depression and severe stress. Your actions aboard the _Amerigo_ also slew nearly every STG agent there, by virtue of leaving Kerrigan incapacitated. I will allow you to dispense blame amongst yourselves. The number of deaths caused by depriving the Thessia ground forces of your expertise: unknown. Impossible to foresee. Nevertheless a mistake."

"You know a lot about me, but you're short on hard evidence." Garrus raised his mandibles. "As a detective, I'm not impressed."

"It is your choice whether to feel guilt about terran Margaret Tate, 39, who threw herself in front of a train months after the death of her son." Garrus shut his eyes at this, feeling everything slow. _Yes. Shane Tate. One of the victims. If it is a lie, it is an absolutely surgical one._ "Your self-righteousness is ill-earned. You are a murderer of children. It is fortunate that your father could shield you from the worst of the fallout … unlike the turian dock worker, Delias Haram, 35, who was crushed underneath floating freighter debris that collided with his place of work. Nothing shielded him from your fallout."

"I … I know I made a mistake." Garrus looked away from the sphere. "I'm past denying that."

"Then you are on a path to redemption. A pity it ends here." _We'll see about that._

"Samara. Mother of three. Now two. Soon none. I know it is pointless to focus on your brutal and casual murder of your daughter on Omega, months past. You rationalized it away long ago."

"Do not deny the necessity of my actions." Samara spoke with not a hint of emotion, only ice. "If Morinth were standing before you and you decided to list her victims, this ship would erode away to dust before you were done."

"We are in agreement. Your neglect of your other two daughters is nevertheless not a trait to be admired. When did you speak to them last?" Silence fell between the two of them. "I shall answer in your stead: since departing to hunt Morinth. Your daughters have lived a life without their mother, a fate crueler than the one for most Ardat-Yakshi." _What the hell are those?_

"It is less painful this way. For either of us."

"A hollow platitude, given their recent conscription into the Ascendant Program."

The ice cracked. Samara's face twisted with sudden emotion, her gun firing once. The round slammed into the sphere and bounced off, making everyone duck as the round flew into the ceiling with a shower of sparks.

"Did you expect them to forever live a carefree monastic life, Samara?" The Broker's voice sounded positively demonic now, deep and almost mechanical. "As your people grew ever more desperate, crying out for the aid of the few matriarchs remaining once Thessia fell, you continued the pursuit of your "duty," even above the bonds of family and species. Did you expect the children of a Justicar to be exempt from your people's need? Falere and Rila are soldiers now, dozens of kills between them. You missed them on Illium, slaughtering turian troops with smiles on their faces, their power armor coated in the blood of their enemies."

"A lie." Samara's shaking hands and previous outburst did little to persuade Garrus, however, the Broker even less so.

"It should be a simple thing, for a mother to know if what I say about her children is true or not. Your uncertainty speaks volumes about how you have treated your family."

Samara turned away, head craning over to her shoulder, likely to wipe away the beginnings of tears. _I'm going to enjoy ending you, Broker._

"Sphere is opening." Legion stepped away from the console, brandishing his enormous rifle. "We … look forward to finishing this." _Zeratul, let me shoot the bastard in the head once you're done skewering him._ The sphere clicked, sheets of metal beginning to slide away. Slowly though, so slowly.

"Zeratul." The Broker's word made Garrus's heart catch in his mouth and take a step back. "I do not need eyes to see you. Your stench of uncertainty is most pungent. Did you think yourself above my scrutiny? How typical, for a protoss."

"What could you possibly know of a Prelate of the Dark Templar, creature?" Zeratul's reply came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making Garrus wonder just where he was physically. "I have journeyed through the darkness between the most distant of stars. I have-"

"-beheld the birth of negative-suns and the entropy of entire realities," finished the Broker and Zeratul in unison, making an unholy quiet fall upon the chambers. "Even the supposedly humble and down-to-earth Nerazim fall victim to the legendary hubris of the protoss. Doubt worms your cold hearts, son of the xel'naga. Your Matriarch has no answers as to the nature of the threat, and the temple remains closed. The quarians march towards what is almost assuredly a path of violent self-destruction, and every day you mourn the death of Tassadar, the messiah who could have prevented all of this if only you had been the one to strike down the Overmind."

"How do you know this?"

"You rage for the mutilation of Executor Selendis, carried out by one of your own brothers." The Broker did not sound even close to stopping. The plates still slid away, slowly unlocking the monster that lay within. "You found no trace of what the geth called "indoctrination" on the minds of the traitors. You sense that the root of the problem lies deeper within, at the higher echelons. Yet you trust, blindly, that your age and wisdom will eventually allow you to overturn the stones and see the rot within your leadership. And all the while, the hour of reckoning draws nearer."

"How do you know this?" The sphere clanked audible, and the plates stopped moving. The sound of pressure being released filled the room, a lengthy hiss.

"You stained your blade with the blood of far too many Templar, and led far too many of the Nerazim to an early death on the battlefields of Aiur. You let your cold rage get the better of you too many times, leading to the infamous massacres at Antioch, Bellum, and Cantius. You fled from your responsibilities once the war was won, unwilling to look upon the blood-soaked fields and ask yourself that critical question."

" _How do you know this?_ "

"Is this what Tassadar would have wanted?"

The plates fell away, and a looming figure stood … and stood … and stood, monstrous in size, dwarfing even Zeratul. Broader than any krogan, or indeed any two krogan put side by side, and clad in armor as black as midnight, the Broker resembled no species Garrus had ever seen. In one hand he carried a massive machine gun. The other remained free, but a complicated series of bulky wires ran up and down the wrist. His face, and indeed all of him, was obscured by the massive set of power armor he wore, but Garrus could not help but note the total lack of visor or eye holes left in the mask. _What … what are you?_

As soon as Garrus remembered to squeeze the trigger, the air flickered. The Broker turned, his free hand lifting and holding something in place. Zeratul appeared, his wrist caught by the Broker, who stood both taller and so much broader than him. His warp blade hung an inch from the Broker's neck.

"I do not need eyes to see."

With a grunt, the Broker flung Zeratul to the ground and stepped hard on the wrist, an audible crack causing the green light of the warp blade to vanish. Garrus screamed and fired with the others, who unleashed a veritable deluge of bullets upon the Broker to no apparent effect. Zeratul rolled away as the Broker stepped again, hard, barely missing him. _Blade's broken. Ah, crap._

The gunfire faded momentarily, as Kerrigan apparently realized the total lack of effect she was having, while the rest waited for the guns to cool down. The Broker surveyed all of them with a chilling indifference while Zeratul faded again.

The Broker snapped his free wrist, producing a glowing shield of energy, almost as large as he was. The other hand lifted his weapon.

"Hit the deck!"

Garrus dived behind one of the four pillars as the weapon fired, one slamming against his leg and making his visor scream with warnings about low barriers. The slugs pelted against the back of his pillar before turning to others. He heard shouting, screaming, and then the room shook. Garrus darted around his pillar and unleashed an overload against the back of the Broker, who paid absolutely no attention and instead rammed the adjacent pillar again, leaving Kerrigan exposed.

Garrus fired into the Broker's rear until his gun released steam and an apologetic notice, finishing it up with an overload before ducking behind the pillar again, only peaking his head around. The Broker took no mind, swiping at Kerrigan with his shield, which she rolled neatly under. A glowing green blade leapt from her own wrist, and she swiped at the Broker's legs, earning her nothing more than a shower of sparks, a vicious if inaccurate kick, and the stench of ozone.

"This is an unfavorable battlefield," murmured Zeratul into Garrus's ear. The Broker whipped around as Samara sent a warp at him, causing him to flick it away with irritation before advancing upon her, his machine gun roaring all the while. "My psionics have no effect."

Kerrigan lifted a glowing hand and sent a stream of lightning into the Broker, actually making him roar and turn again, the bullets flying. The barrier still did not break, and the shield absorbed the lightning with a high-pitched whine. _Never seen her do that before. Is that new?_

"Get the door open," urged Zeratul. "Retreat … I can call down my ship." Garrus moved to the other side of the pillar and stared at the sealed door. _Well, how hard could it be?_

Garrus darted towards the door and activated his omnitool, tapping the keys frantically. _Okay, it's just a door. Have to force the mechanism._ It didn't take long. The door shuddered and groaned, only to strain against the corruption at its edges. _Oh, come on!_

There was nothing for it but to wait for the door to actually pull free. Garrus wheeled about just in time for the Broker to notice what he was doing. He snapped his already active omnitool at the massive figure and let the overload fly, all the while half crawling, half staggering back to his position. His barriers screamed again, this time actually breaking. As he stood behind the pillar, panting and waiting for death to catch up, he felt the pressure on his chest.

"Hmm." His hand came away with a trickle of blue when he reached for the pain, making him nod and grin. _Ah, it's not so bad. Suit's got the worst of it. The real issue is about to smash this pillar down._

Sure enough, Garrus fell forward as the pillar buckled. People shouted to him but he did not know what they were saying, he only stood and scrambled for his weapon, strafing around the pillar and preparing to contribute his bug bite to the Broker's shields before being torn apart.

To his left, the door slid open with a muffled scream, affording Garrus a moment of calm before the pillar exploded and a flash of red sent him flying backwards into the wall.

"No!" A flash of light behind closed eyelids. The Broker roared, and Garrus cracked open his eyes in time to see Kerrigan's hair streaming behind her, the lightning playing from her fingertips. Garrus tried to push himself up, only to be yanked vertically by an unseen force. _Zeratul._

Zeratul sent him forward to the door with a push. Kerrigan was backing up, trying to break the Broker's shield while he advanced. _Get going, I'll be fine!_

Garrus followed Saren out the door, who cursed as something moved in the shadows. Garrus joined in on the cursing as he realized his assault rifle now lay in pieces in the Broker's room, instead producing a pistol and waiting for Saren to shine his light.

"What the-"

Something humanoid and blue leapt at Saren full-force, only to be punted backwards by his biotics. The creature, whatever it was, severed at the waste, spraying them with noxious smelling fluid. The corridors filled with electronic screams.

"Out! Out!"

Samara slipped into Garrus's vision, her biotics casting a harsh blue glow over their surroundings. Twisted mechanical abominations leered back at them, charging. Samara leapt and pounded the earth, sending them flying in a twisted tornado of flailing cybernetic limbs. The gunfire behind them grew louder.

Garrus charged, pistol held in both hands, firing precise shots every time he saw a set of glowing eyes. His barriers flared as something that looked hideously reminiscent of a turian returned fire, causing him to duck, prep an overload, and leave the thing staggering. It took nine rounds to the chest to finally make it collapse afterward, leaving Garrus clutching a gun whose heat he could feel through his gloves.

The corridors, previously silent and threatening, now heaved with artificial life. Screaming, churning, their foes seemed to be numberless, an endless tide of resistance preventing their escape while their doom pounded its way forward behind them. Kerrigan panted at Garrus's side, urging him forward, slamming one of her ridiculous terran ammunition containers into the underside. From behind them, something heavy slammed against the metal repetitively, only to grunt and stop. _Zeratul, slowing him down._

"Exit in twenty meters." Legion even sounded shaken, his metallic fingers gesturing through the black and towards the still open door to the hellish exterior. Garrus gritted his teeth as the pain sharpened, and ran for the exit.

Light, blessed natural light flooded his vision as he crossed the threshold from bleak madness to uncontrollable chaos. Garrus slotted his pistol back into his holster and readied his sniper rifle, eye pressed before the scope, reticule swaying in the darkness. _One._ A techno turian's head exploded in a shower of blue. _Two._ A corrupted terran creature flew backwards, a gaping wire-filled cavity in its chest. _Three…_

Saren made it through next, gun forgotten on his back, his organic arm glowing with blue as he sent warps and pulls into the evil before them. Samara followed, suppressing in much the same manner. Legion and Kerrigan were last out, taking careful shots. The Broker roared from within, and the far end of the corridor began to glow red. _Where is Zeratul?_

The Broker did not fill the corridors so much as eclipse it, flicking the remains and living bodies of mechanical creatures aside with his shield, unable to bring his weapon to bear while in the corridor. They fired as one at him, their guns roaring in Garrus's ears, the biotics distorting his vision. Kerrigan's casings fell to the ground in a steaming heap, a testament to her effort. All to no avail.

The Broker advanced, the rounds and biotics mushrooming against the shield to no effect, his pace unbroken by any level of effort on their part. _Shit. Sorry, Zeratul._ Garrus let his rifle droop in one hand while activating his omnitool, urging the door to seal shut, which it did.

"Get some distance!" They all fell back, fanning out and, in the case of the snipers, going prone so as to take better aim. Within seconds of Garrus lying on his belly, the door buckled. _Okay, taking a knee, instead._ Garrus brought himself up, keeping the rifle ready, reminding himself to try and hit the thing behind the shield, even if the shot seemed improbable. The door deformed further, letting Garrus catch some motion behind it. _Damn it, Zeratul, even without the blade you're not useless. Where are you? Dead is out of the question._

The door burst outwards, and the Broker stepped out on to the surface of his ship, gun already spraying slugs in every direction. Garrus fired twice, catching the bastard once in the shield, once in the shoulder, both to no effect. Kerrigan flung a large part of wreckage from the door at his face, only for it to harmlessly bounce off. Garrus thought he heard laughter.

The beast cornered Samara first, who stood her ground as she flung warp after warp into the shield, unwilling to move any closer to the edge.

"Rila and Falere!" she called out, her voice carrying only through the radio, calm if a bit sad. "Find Rila and-"

The Broker, heedless of her words or the bullets pounding her back, slammed his shield against the asari full force. Samara went flying backwards, off the lip, and immediately disappeared from sight, having been caught by the wind. _One less Justicar in the galaxy … and they're a dying breed already. I'm sorry. I did all I could._ The Broker rounded on the survivors, his armor glinting in the light of the lightning conduits, his black silhouette somehow striking against the angry orange clouds on the horizon.

"Garrus! The door!" Saren, redirecting his attention. More robotic bastards now crawled from the ship itself, suppressed only by Saren's gunfire. Garrus, increasingly resigned, fired a parting shot a messy parting shot at the Broker before repositioning. Behind him, unexpected, a flash of light and a howl.

"The conduits!" called out Kerrigan.

"Shooting conduits produces violent reaction in Broker armor and shields. Damage still insufficient." By the time Garrus had turned and Legion had stopped speaking, the Broker had already shaken off the damage and relit his shield, twitching slightly.

"Saren, cover the doors!" Garrus primed an overload and waiting for light to strike the conduit. The Broker, however, was having none of that. He charged well away from the Conduit, directly for Legion.

"Backup in place. Strike the lightning conduits. Do not mourn-" The Broker slammed his massive gun directly atop the geth, splattering the ship with white fluid while the geth made a pitiful whine and fell silent.

"Brave Legion, I pray I will live to see you again." Zeratul, emerging from the doorway, one arm bent the wrong way, limping badly, casually sending the creatures behind him flying backwards with his other palm stretched towards them. "Samara … I am sorry."

The Broker turned upon him, and Zeratul planted his legs firmly against the ground.

Garrus, now flanking the massive creature, fired twice at its face. The Broker tossed its head, surprised, and turned towards Garrus. Lightning flashed, and a familiar glow filled the conduit behind him … still well out of reach. The Broker readied his gun.

Garrus's breathing slowed. He jumped to the side as the muzzle flashed, but knew he bought himself a half a second at most. The world flashed white … and the Broker staggered, lightning arcing through his body, making it smoke. His gun flew from his grip and his shield vanished with a shriek of static. The Broker turned slowly in place, clearly in pain, revealing Kerrigan, channeling the lightning from the conduit through her body.

Zeratul took one look at her before turning to the conduit adjacent to the one she was using. He stretched out his bad arm and groaned in pain as the lightning surged through him, his body smoking in a way Kerrigan's was not. Nevertheless, the energy flew from his other arm and wrapped around the Broker, who let out a deep, electronic groan.

Saren, arm glowing with blue, fired a warp at the figure, impacting the armor and leaving a massive dent. Garrus, astonished to still be alive, joined Saren's side and readied his rifle, locking it on the Broker's face.

"Cannot … continue…" Zeratul took a knee, suddenly looking very old. His flowing cloak caught fire and turned to cinders almost immediately, yet the Broker still took tentative steps forward.

Garrus fired once and the mask cracked, revealing two empty sockets on the left side of the creature's face, a series of blue wires traced against its purple skin. The Broker whined, sounding more like a computer on the fritz than a living thing in its death throes.

Garrus fired again, breaking the mask away completely and revealing a triangular mouth and four pairs of eyesockets. The skin looked desiccated and unhealthy, glowing blue wires standing out like thick veins on its face, with no sign of any eyes within the sockets. When the creature's mouth opened in a howl, Garrus caught a glimpse of the blue wiring running down the creature's gullet. Which he promptly fired his third shot into.

A spray of blue erupted from the back of the Broker's throat, and the lightning danced into both openings. The Broker's scream turned into a grinding moan as his skin glowed from within, as the twin streams of lightning burned their way from within. The Broker took a final step forward, body glowing with incandescent light … and then exploded, sending an ocean of blue in every direction, with chunks of wire-riddled flesh bouncing off Garrus's barriers or flying into the heavens only to be struck down by them.

Garrus fell to his knees, a shocked gasp escaping him. He was not alone in falling; a thump came from behind him. When he turned, Zeratul had collapsed, his body smoking. _I'm … I'm sure he's okay._ Saren, of all people, rushed over, calling out his name. A heavy hand fell on Garrus's shoulder, pulling him up. Kerrigan, hair standing on end from the static electricity, giving him a thumbs up … and then pulling him into a tight hug before leaving him there for Zeratul. _We made it. Heh … we made it._

Only a smoking crater and some steaming blue blood marked where the Broker had stood. Garrus stared at it unblinking for a few moments before joining the others, brain still catching up with his body, which now rejoiced at his survival by flooding it with all manner of confusing chemicals.

"I … live." Zeratul's hand clutched at Sarah's his head rising to reveal several nasty burns. "Protoss hubris … I did not anticipate such strength."

"He's dead now. We've won." Garrus sensed the smile behind Kerrigan's mask, even if he could not see it. "Legion … will live. We'll have to tell his new copy of what happened to the last one. And Samara…" Kerrigan looked back to the edge and shook her head. "Rila and Falere. I'll see if we can get them released from service. And I suppose I'll have to tell Raynor. She was … more his friend than mine."

"She died in pursuit of justice. A worthy death for a Justicar." Saren rose, staring into the depths of the ship. "This ship is filled with horrors, but at least it is ours, for the time being. How many more of those machines can there be?" A scream answered him, but Saren only barked in laughter at the response.

"This ship … the Broker's command center." Sarah stared into the darkness, her voice suddenly curious. "If it has all his data on those computers … if we could put it to use…"

 _The Broker's words … how true were they?_ Garrus stared at Sarah, who no longer seemed aware of her surroundings.

"Sarah…" Garrus said, injecting both concern and a warning. He rose. "By "we," you mean, "you.""

"No. I mean you, me, and Saren. What's left of the Spectres, really." Kerrigan shrugged.

"And … where do I fit in your plans?" gasped Zeratul, a burnt hand outstretched.

"You're the only Dark Templar I can trust," replied Kerrigan, staring down at him. "The information should be freely available to you. The first step is to clear away the corruption…"

"This ship should be gifted to the protoss and Citadel," said Saren bluntly. "A team of information analysts could do far more good with this than us, and the information should be as public as possible."

"I am not dragging this abomination anywhere near high traffic space." Kerrigan folded her arms. "And I'm not bringing it to the Citadel where it will be "accidentally" blown up, or subject to a curiously successful protoss terrorist attack."

"The Broker's dead, Sarah." Garrus touched her shoulder, making her turn to him. "The galaxy should know that. They should know that, not only are the Reapers real and the bad guys, but we're striking against them."

"A … compromise." Zeratul rose, shaking. "The geth … remain neutral in most matters, and their heretics are long extinguished. I can tell them to take it to their space. You may remain if you like … and do with the information what you will. The geth will process it far faster than any of us, and will clear the vessel of the Reaper's stench without difficulty."

Kerrigan opened her mouth and shut it again, nodding in agreement. _There. The Broker was wrong._

"Then … that's what we will do." She stared at where Samara had made her fatal fall. "And I think the first order of business will be using our newfound assets to locate those daughters of Samara."

"Agreed." Saren made a slash across his chest, a turian gesture of promise. "And the second order of business should be to find out just who these traitors are and putting them down with extreme prejudice."

Garrus and Sarah joined in on the slash, Garrus noting the strange way it made Sarah's chest move. He sensed the smile behind the mask again.

 _So. Even the Broker thought I was on the path to redemption._ He looked to the smoking crater and to Kerrigan again. _Best keep going forward. To the future, looking brighter by the minute._ She gently reached for his hand, which he took. The storm around them raged on.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Selendis**


	40. A Wounded Fingertip

**Selendis**

"I will give this to the batarians over the terrans," murmured Aldaris, sending a faint caress of approval towards Selendis, "they know when they are outmatched."

A column of sheepish soldiers, holdouts loyal to the Priest Caste, marched below their balcony with their hands placed over their hands, transmitting a mix of embarrassment and resentment as the zealots drove them through the street; the embarrassment stemmed from their attempt at holding one of the Batarian State Arms offices against the Hegemon only to have very large protoss warp in directly next to them, the resentment stemmed from the few idiotic losses they had taken as the inevitable came to pass. _But they gave up in the end, unlike all too many of the ITSA holdouts. The terrans possess a baffling superiority complex at times._

"We will burn them out if need be," Kaldalis had declared to Selendis on Terra Nova, a coastal city in flames behind him, casting his features in a hellish glow. "The government has disavowed these renegades, and should thus be spared. But no mercy for those who raise arms against us."

 _Indeed. No mercy._ Selendis watched the batarians round a corner and disappear, yet another mass of prisoners to be held by the Daelaam Protectorate until the situation became more stable. _Most certainly until the homes of all the slaves had been found._ Selendis stared through the strange batarian buildings which alternated between impressively ornate skyscrapers encrusted with truly beautiful golden symbols of the batarians religion, and the squat and filthy homes of the lower castes and slaves, to the massive spaceport beyond. Conventional protoss shuttles and battered looking cargo ships flew to and from the port, each brimming with life within. _Chaos, but of a pleasant sort. A heady whiff of freedom, a promise of being reunited with one's family._

"They are a hard people to fully grasp," said Selendis, turning to Aldaris, who still peered into the streets below, mind and eyes alike wandering from mind to mind. "They seemed so pleased to see us, the majority of their leadership and their military. Accommodating, thrilled to advance with our blessing. Skilled architects and designers. And yet, their every gesture has this whiff of decay."

"Their glory is built on the backs of slaves." Aldaris stared out across the city, his mind radiating a mix of disdain and discomfort. "And yet, I feel the same disgust here that I do when I looked upon Eden Prime; total freedom does not appear to engender favorable characteristics to the lesser species either. And now, Artanis has put us in charge of both of them, to shepherd them into a new era of peace and productivity … while also preparing them for the greatest war in history."

"Do you doubt the Hierarch's judgment?" Selendis shook her head, marveling at the audacity of the Judicator who had impregnated an alien. "We have proven ourselves above the strength of these creatures, even with their unexpected advancement in weapons technology. They are pinned by our might – they may struggle, but it is fruitless."

"They claw at our belly, spilling our blood and sapping our strength when it would be wiser to step aside." Aldaris straightened, his disgust deepening in intensity, the stench of it making Selendis take a step back even as her temper flared. "Such anger, Selendis. I expected more from one who took such casualties above Illium, who required the quarians, of all people, to convince Desolas to give up the fight. Can you not see the foolhardy nature of what we are trying to do?"

"Their fleets cannot contend-"

"I do not speak of fleets and armies, Executor," snapped the Judicator, his skin flashing red momentarily. "I speak of cultures and economies. We have frozen no less than 37 shipping lanes in our search for the zerg and any potential Reaper threat. Said shipping lanes now require explicit Daelaam permission to be used for each vessel or convoy, slowing the supplying of countless worlds, both core and fringe. Artanis does not factor this, for he is used to our mastery of warp technology, of our photosynthetic biology." Aldaris pointed to a grand arch, barely visible through the building speckled horizon. "A monument to their slaves, built by slaves. The Terminus Systems were reliant on trade with the Hegemony. Trade has frozen, and the slave trade is gone. The Terminus Systems must now seek other markets … such as the exposed borders of Council space, now that their military ships must seek protoss permission to even defend their worlds."

"We will defend-"

"Even bolstered by our Nerazim allies, we lack the numbers or firepower to secure all of the known galaxy against every conflict." Aldaris shook his head. "Why must the Judicator lecture the Templar on logistics? Because the Templar forget all beyond their studies. Artanis entrusted me with ingratiating myself amongst the Council's politicians and understanding their ways, and now refuses to make use of my knowledge. And before you suggest simply burning the worlds of whatever Terminus warlord elects to make the first move, answer me this: at that stage, how are we better in the lesser species' eyes than the forces we have pledged to oppose?"

"Do you speak for yourself here, or for Tevos?" Selendis relished the sudden paling of Aldaris's skin, the disdain turning to dismay as the Judicator seemed to shrink. "How far did the Hierarch ask you to go to "ingratiate" yourself with your lessers, Judicator? What would he say if he were suddenly rendered aware of your concerns … as well as the source of those concerns?"

Aldaris shut his eyes, his mind chilling with a mixture of fear and resignation. Yet … Selendis sensed no shame. No regret.

"I expect Razagal was the one to tell you." Aldaris's hands clenched and unclenched, a steady release of emotion. "She is … ever on the prowl for the weaknesses in others. Gifted with great perception. I do not deny what I have done. Nor will I apologize." Aldaris's eyes leveled with Selendis, his expression unexpectedly severe. "The civil war brought me ruin, yet I went against the wishes of the Conclave and my own hearts to surrender. I volunteered to be the liaison to the Council to smooth over relations with the Ara Tribe, to reassure them that the Dae'uhl would be upheld. I welcomed the … _fool_ who excuses every crime by crying out "En taro Tassadar," without ever once remembering that Tassadar himself planned to surrender himself to us once the Overmind was dead. No. To him there was only the retribution, and the righteousness. And what was my reward for my acceptance, my mercy, and my sacrifice?" Aldaris's eyes burned with a cold intensity Selendis had never seen in any Judicator before.

"Mockery. Judgment. Rage. I sense it now, from you. The nerve. When your nerve cords were cut, did I abandon you? You are an Executor, worthy of respect – a sword of the Khala, regardless of whether we can feel each other in totality. Yet from all too many of my brethren, I sense only resentment, either for acquiescing or for not acquiescing fast enough for their liking. Imagine my surprise when, following the attack on the Tower, the first person in almost a year to listen to my words and understand my position … was an alien. An asari."

"What you are doing – it is sickening in every sense!" Selendis shook, remembering the way Fenix had described the asari upon his return from the Great War. Their biology unnerved him to a far greater degree than any zerg ever had. "The age difference alone-"

"Asari live as long as any of the Firstborn," Aldaris stated bluntly. "Tevos is my elder by about forty years. The terrans may flicker and die in mere heartbeats, but the asari endure as we do. And their mating practice … it is not so different from our own." Aldaris took a step closer, pity now creeping into his anger. "Selendis, I am not being manipulated. I have seen Tevos's mind exposed … and have brought something into the galaxy that has never been seen before. If anything, my actions could be seen as affirmation that, yes, the protoss can exist peacefully alongside the … other sapients of the galaxy. We wanted this. I did not risk my people. Tevos is not interested in the secrets of the protoss."

Selendis stared at the Judicator, barely able to process the … blatancy of Aldaris's words. _She seeks a child because the asari have been interested in producing an asari/protoss child for as long as they have been aware of our existence. She will be held up, the first of the asari to seduce a protoss … I pray it is the last._

"Our endeavors towards unification are doomed to failure until the protoss can accept our allies' vices and virtues both," said Aldaris, turning away once again from Selendis, staring at the setting sun. "Expose me if you wish. I only request that you do nothing to hurt Tevos … or our child. Do me that kindness."

Selendis's hearts pounded dully in her chest while she watched the Judicator, his figure cast in a brilliant orange by the setting Khar'Shan sun. _I … it is not my place._ Still, a feeling of sickness roiled in her belly, disbelief and disgust fermenting into a nauseating cocktail. _How could you do this, Aldaris? Are you really so hungry for compassion? Are you that pathetic?_

"You have my silence." Aldaris nodded ever so slightly at Selendis's words. "But … I will never understand what you've done. Nor will any other protoss."

"Give it time. Our race is not so advanced so as to have outgrown the need for affection, whatever form it takes." Aldaris gave Selendis a sideways glance. "Now … I sense Anto is ready for us, below. No matter our grievances against one another, I trust we will present a united front before him?"

"I am your Executor, Aldaris." Selendis did not bother to inject any amount of enthusiasm into that statement. _I am robbed of the Khala, and the future grows darker every moment. Duty may as well be all that is left to me, in the end._

They exited the balcony together, descending the stone steps towards Anto's current makeshift throne room; the palace itself was still in some disarray following a swift offensive by Selendis to purge the halls of Loyalists. _And it is out of the way, inconspicuous. An office building repurposed as a command center._

Batarians hurried through the cramped hallways of the building, some bearing weapons, others carrying datapads. They murmured greetings and blessings to Aldaris and Selendis as they passed, genuine awe and reverence in their voices, some touching their foreheads or closing one set of eyes and drawing a finger across the lids. At the center of the building, like some great animal making its lair in the center of a cave, sat Anto the Vindictive, the former Hegemon, several screens propped up before him, his two sets of eyes focusing on different screens at a time, a hand resting on his chin as if in thought.

Reaching out, Selendis could sense the undertones of both anxiety and triumph permeating his being: less resistance than he had expected from the priest caste and the governors, but a much higher body count. _And of course, you worry about how heavy handed we will be in restructuring your society. For all that we can offer you in terms of advancement, you know you cannot control us._

Someone else also occupied the large and darkened center office, seated to the side and fiddling with his omnitool, the orange light offering one of the two major sources of illumination in the room, aside from Anto's computers. A salarian with pinkish tone, a missing horn, and a badly scarred face frowned at their approach before rising, omnitool fading away and darkening the room further. Selendis, ever weary (as all Khalai should be) of starving in the shadows, gestured to the lights high above and turned them on, making Anto grunt at the sudden illumination, focusing both of his blinking sets of eyes on the protoss.

"Judicator. Executor." Anto rose, offering a stiff bow before repeating the odd gesture from before, closing one set of eyes and running a finger across the lids. "The assimilation goes smoothly enough. None can stand before the might of the protoss. I … do worry about the long term bloodshed, however. While Dekeer and the fleet will be forever thankful for you bringing them back from the Koprulu Sector, the local planetary defense forces are less … trusting of outsiders."

"We will spare those we can, and our High Templar will keep us appraised of any potential conspiracies or uprisings." Aldaris did not sound overtly concerned. He gestured towards the salarian. "I would know who stands amongst us."

"Mordin Solus, former STG, former Omega doctor, currently invested in anti-Reaper action." The salarian spoke quickly, and Selendis found to her shock that, when she reached out to his mind, she could not track the thoughts. They hummed along at dizzying speeds, mutating and careening before her eyes, a roiling maelstrom of ideas, suppositions, and musings. Aldaris apparently felt it too, for annoyance and confusion leaked from his mind as he focused on the specimen before him. "Selendis, Executor. Aldaris, Judicator and High Councilor of the Citadel. Pleasure."

"Artanis spoke of you," replied Selendis, remembering. "You kept the Council informed of zerg weaknesses, developed countermeasures, and treated the injuries of countless wounded soldiers from the Thessia push. You are worthy of our respect."

"Appreciated but irrelevant." Mordin waved off the compliment. "Left STG after War. Went to Omega, opened clinic. Saved many. Saw much. Most important!" He raised a finger. "Omega Relay. Largest known relay – strange coloration. Notable for inaccessibility, all known craft vanish upon entry. Only one exception." Mordin breathed sharply and activated his omnitool, producing the flickering outline of a familiar ship … last seen at Korhal. "This vessel. Collector vessel. Uncommon sight in Terminus Systems, presumed myth or legend elsewhere. Seen this ship only once, bound for ITSA space."

"Collectors?" Anto's eyes narrowed. "That … that would explain the obsession with collecting Koprulu races. So – they are real, then?"

"Ask Aria. Ask any personnel stationed at remaining Omega/Khar'shan Waygates. Infrequent sight, but known. Suspected involvement in ITSA abductions, but no conclusive evidence without visual confirmation of abductors." Mordin breathed in sharply again. "Korhal changed that. Could not escape Omega while in chaos, but made beeline here when able. Hoped to meet protoss officials. Provide insight." He turned to Anto. "Encourage truthfulness on less savory matters. Should explain Leviathan of Dis. Immediately."

"The Leviathan of Dis?" Aldaris strode towards Anto, towering over him. "I have yet to hear of this. If it is relevant to the ongoing Reaper threat, I pray you have good reason not to bring it up."

Anto rolled his eyes, surprising Selendis by projecting annoyance rather than fear. "The Leviathan of Dis was a massive ship we found and claimed in a crater on Jartar. We had it here on Khar'shan for about thirty years until, one day, it activated and flew into our sun for apparently no reason at all." Anto shrugged. "The whole escapade was an embarrassment. The Hegemon at the time, Corlo the Deceitful, denied the existence of the craft to the galaxy at large, dedicating himself to uncovering the Leviathan's secrets for himself … only to see it fly into the sun." Anto rubbed his neck for a second. "Ah, almost forgot. He and almost a hundred other officials, chiefly governors and scientists involved in the Leviathan project, also went missing at the time, never to be found. Big scandal, almost led to civil war, but that was almost eighty years ago. Hardly as momentous as my own ascension."

"Is this common knowledge?" asked Aldaris, each word annunciated clearly, his skin tinging a slight pink.

"Not especially. People living in the Hegemony tend to forget about such embarrassments relatively quickly. Mostly due to government order." Anto grinned at them, making Selendis feel faintly disgusted at the length of his teeth. "It's little more than curiosity to higher ups such as myself. Yagza, my predecessor, had a theory about one of the scientists … Narud, I think it was? Something about his lack of background and sudden appearance coinciding with the Leviathan's disappearance. That was his own pet history project, though." Anto shrugged again. "It's not relevant now, as far as I can tell. Perhaps the ship was a Reaper; it was certainly large enough and bore the same profile as the vessel at the Citadel years ago. I remember that well enough. But … hurled itself into a sun. Gone."

"So … there are corpses of Reapers being left about." Aldaris turned to Mordin again, skin still pink from a mixture of his own embarrassment and irritation. "How do you know of this, then, if the batarians themselves have mostly forgotten?"

"STG. Have to know. Union planned to reclaim Leviathan as well. Beaten to it by batarians." Mordin stared at Anto pointedly. "Still relevant. Second corpse found recently. Rejoining with STG on grounds that they reveal location to you." He produced the omnitool again. "Mnemosyne. Gas giant. Backtracked mass effect round that glanced Klendagon. Leads here. Massive ship. Same profile as Leviathan. Same profile as Sovereign." Mordin offered a slight smile. "Evidence of existence. Potential source of research. Still urge caution." His eyes flicked to Anto. "Corlo behaved strangely before disappearance. Would suggest conferring with geth about interactions with Sovereign before investigating. Certain evidence suggests powerful Reaper psionic gestalt."

"So, after all that effort to secure Dis between our two species, we're just giving up the next Leviathan to the protoss?" Anto laughed openly. "Try not to fly the thing into a sun, alright? And if you want to bring it back here, I would not object." _I … do not feel that would be a good idea._

Aldaris stared at the salarian, his skin fading back into its usual color. _The salarians have given us precious little reason to trust or like them … but if this is real, than perhaps they are on the path of finally accepting the existence of this threat, of ceasing their pointless instigations of conflict._

"You offer this to us purely on the basis of it … seeming right to you?" Aldaris could not apparently hide his disbelief. "The chance to perhaps equalize technologies with us … and you pass it up willingly?"

"Hard sell to STG, but eventually agreed with reasoning." Mordin's smile grew wider, and he inclined his head. "Foolish, to try yet again to fool protoss. Better to work alongside, forget countering turian agenda, instead focus on Reaper threat. Would appreciate sharing of findings, but otherwise, protoss prerogative."

Aldaris turned to Selendis. She could sense the question before he asked it.

"I will gladly lead a small force to inspect the craft, Judicator." Selendis inclined her head. "Send word to the geth to meet us there. And I feel it would be appropriate for Mordin to come, if he wishes it."

Mordin offered a short bark of laughter. "Trust in protoss clearly well placed. Still, must decline. Returning to Sur'kesh. Events on Tuchanka monitor warranting, even with protoss on planet." Mordin took a sharp breath. "Would also suggest keeping close eye on UED. Behavior erratic, goal unclear. If nothing else, securing location of Earth should be high priority."

"They are a unifying influence on the Koprulu Sector and will be tolerated for the time being," replied Aldaris stubbornly. _My thoughts exactly. The Hierarch's as well._ "Unlike the Union and Hierarchy, they do not possess a reputation for firing on protoss vessels when irked or alarmed."

"Point taken. Point also still stands." Mordin gave a bow. "Wish luck with endeavor. Now, must go." He nodded to Anto. "Thank you, for permission to be here. May your rule be lengthy."

"If you find another Leviathan or Reaper or whatever, would you be kind enough to toss it my way?" Anto still offered a wide grin to Mordin. "Keep fighting the good fight. It's not worth it to tangle with the protoss."

Mordin left as quickly as he spoke, a single pale salarian amidst a horde of exhausted protoss and dirty batarians. Aldaris watched the salarian leave with a mix of bafflement and admiration, unprepared for that level of cooperation from the salarians of all people.

"Make haste for the gas giant," he said finally, accepting reality for what it was. "I will alert the geth. I do hope the salarians have not pre-emptively looted the craft or in any way betrayed our trust beforehand. It would be unfortunate to single them out as the one Council race I never managed to respect."

"Mordin's reputation precedes him; Artanis spoke highly of the doctor." Selendis reached out for the mind of a helmsman for a carrier above. "I do not think they would do this to us. I will report back once the craft has been inspected and secured." _Do not think I have forgotten the discussion from before, Judicator. I do this for Aiur, for the Daelaam._

"May Karza look favorably on your endeavor, Executor." Anto repeated the eyelid gesture from before, but he faded even as he spoke. Selendis relaxed her body and rematerialized at the helm of _Strength of Uraj_ , the crew primed for her order.

"Mnemosyne," she commanded, not wasting any time. "The salarians have found us a Reaper derelict."

"At long last, we will bear witness to this most elusive foe!" Karadas, the helmsman, gave the order to jump with great gusto, sending a wave of exhilaration towards Selendis. _Appreciated, Templar._ The carrier broke away from the blockade above Khar'shan, leaving its fellows behind while its core lit up, prepping for a fateful jump. _Well. If the creature is indeed dead, then this should not be a difficult retrieval._

The stars stretched and vanished as the carrier jumped, carrying the excited Templar across the heavens in moments. Selendis shut her eyes and relished the handful of moments of utter quiet and cessation, before coming to with a slight start, faced with a reading of the gas giant before them.

"We have detected the vessel, Executor." Karadas felt for one of the Khaydarin crystals embedded into a computer. "Aldaris has sent word to the geth. They will assist with retrieval, and will arrive in a matter of hours. Shall we approach?"

"I intend to board the vessel myself, Templar." Selendis stared at the faint energy signature, entrapped by and yet resisting the pull of the gas giant. "Are we certain it is dead?"

"It is not responding to our approach, and a massive hole has been punched through the center of the hull." Karadas tapped a handful of keys. "Impressive. Whatever round struck this vessel did so with incredible force. I understand the Reaper at the Citadel took several seconds of exposure to a World Cracker before breaking apart. This one seems to have been disabled by a single shot."

 _Perhaps the work of the xel'naga?_ The thought came unbidden, and for some reason it made Selendis feel uneasy. _Where exactly do the xel'naga … where do_ we _fit in with these Reapers? What is the history behind these things? How long has this thing orbited a gas giant, dead and yet undestroyed?_ The unease grew with every passing moment, as _Strength of Uraj_ pressed closer and closer to the corpse. _Is this what the lesser races feel as they gaze upon our ships, our technology?_

"The core appears intact, but the Reaper itself is dormant, Executor." Karadas stared at the readout, slightly uneasy himself. "It has enough power to protect itself from the gas giant's heat and gravitational pull, but little else. Weapons systems are inactive. Shall we dispatch a boarding party?"

"Two zealots should be sufficient alongside me, Templar." Selendis stared at the profile of the ship, framed against the brightness of the gas giant. "Send us forth. I will report my findings."

Selendis faded once more, relishing the moment before rematerializing in a place … so very unfamiliar to anything she had seen before.

Vast strips of metal stretched upward past her and far down below, angled as if they were the legs of a creature rather than part of a wall. The light around her was faint and tinged a slight blue or purple, matching the coloration of the metal. The floor that she stood on was flat and ran with many blue wires behind a transparent sheet of some unknown alloy, which extended forward to a circular door in the whistled from the depths below, the low howl of a gas giant that was never supposed to have long term visitors. A low yet urgent hum of energy filled the otherwise still air.

"Executor!" The twin zealots came up behind her, broad of shoulder and thick of body, their weapons readied. "We await your command."

"Forward." Selendis had little time to waste on absorbing the tomblike atmosphere of this corpse. She led her two warriors across the elevated catwalk, their passing creating strange shadows which leapt and danced upon the strips of metal. Their armored boots clanked mightily against the catwalk, a deafening series of bangs that broke the faint shrieks of the gas giant's wind from deep below.

The door seemed to take an oddly lengthy time to reach, something Selendis's zealots also noticed. They poured out confused thoughts, looking behind them to see a good distance stretching at their backs, but looking forward to see just as much distance still to go to the door.

"Steady, Templar. There is nothing to fear here."

They trudged on, the wind seeming to grow louder. The door remained equidistant from where they were for a few minutes longer, before finally growing larger in their vision. Up close, the circular door appeared much larger than expected, made up of three different sheets that slid away at their approach, revealing another catwalk beyond it.

"Do you hear that?" One of the zealots turned in place, his speed betraying his inner anxiety. "Whispers in the darkness! Executor, I fear this beast is dead yet not gone. Can you sense it? We are unwelcome here."

"Karadas, there is something amiss here." Selendis reached out for the carrier helmsman's mind and found it, to her faint and yet blessed relief. "The distances here seem off, and … I feel unease." The back of her scalp pricked, a faint tingling in her broken nerve cords. She, too, could hear the faintest whispers in the air, a creaking series of intonations within the wind. "Are you certain this vessel is dead?"

"The core lives, nothing else." Karadas sounded perturbed. "Executor, perhaps it would be wise to retreat? If something lingers within the ruin, the geth, closed off as they are, would be better candidates to explore it."

"I will look beyond this door, Karadas, and return." Selendis turned to her warriors. "Have faith! The Khala protects. Nothing can break that link." Selendis stepped through the threshold.

The door screamed shut behind her, cutting off the cries of her two warriors, somehow severing the link between their minds. Something roared in the distance, deep and mechanical. Selendis, hearts pounding, pressed her hands against the door. It felt unnaturally cold.

"Karadas, I require immediate extraction alongside my warriors." Selendis reached out and felt nothing. Her hearts beat faster. She slammed a fist against the door to no effect, her hand now joining her hearts in painfully throbbing. Selendis turned in place, back to the door, keeping an eye on the catwalk that now stretched before her. No sound came from behind her – no pounding Templar, no psi blades activated in anger, no thoughts … just the wind raging below, carrying with it the faintest snatches of … something.

Selendis stepped forward. The catwalk before her resembled the last one, terminating in the distance with another circular door. _Well … there is only one path. I shall walk, and try to call out to Karadas, see if he can hear me from a different position at the very least._ Selendis tried to contain the fear racing through her mind and veins, but there was no Khala to fall back on. She felt for her truncated nerve cords and ran her fingers through them, cursing the Nerazim who had mutilated her so. _The zealots need not fear death, for they have the Khala. I … I am not so fortunate._

Her footsteps echoed through the Reaper's derelict halls. The wind howled from below, a gas giant trying to finally suck in the prey that orbited it for who knew how long. The door grew steadily closer.

Like the first one, it opened at her approach. Selendis stared through it … and felt shock run through her frame. Impossibly, another catwalk stretched before her, easily beyond what should have been the length of the ship she had seen from outside. Selendis checked behind her again. _A catwalk. The legs. The door._ When she turned and crossed the threshold again, the three sections of door slammed shut behind her again.

The pale blue light brightened ever so slightly as she stepped away from the entrance, a tinge of red creeping in and somehow lengthening the shadows. Selendis cried out for help and heard only the echo of her own mind reverberate back to her. The howling of the wind grew louder. _There is only one path forward._

Selendis remained straight backed, unwilling to show whatever vile presence that occupied this corpse any fear. Her footsteps intermixed with the wind, creating an unending scream broken by a steady drumbeat of metal on metal. For a time, it wore on Selendis's nerves. This was nothing compared to when it was broken by a sudden additional set of footsteps.

Selendis wheeled about, psi blades drawn. Only her own shadow greeted her, along with the lonely stretch of catwalk. The red light deepened, extending her shadow further. Selendis closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the Khala, trying to steady herself. _Even the zealots felt fear … but I am an Executor. This is but a corpse._

Selendis turned again. The trip to the next door did not take as long as the previous two, and she felt an odd sense of relief, of progress at seeing it open, even though it revealed only another catwalk, another door far beyond. _Is it the same catwalk each time?_ _Is this some manner of illusion?_

The door slid shut behind her again, resisting any attempt for Selendis to hold it open with her psionics. Karadas still did not answer her calls. Selendis could only walk onwards, propel herself within the seemingly endless belly of this beast.

The red light now held sway over the Reaper, gleaming dully against the metal, seeming to come from nowhere and yet enveloping everything. The wind rose in volume as Selendis walked, making her wonder if the gas giant itself hated her, threatened to consume her as this Reaper did.

Another set of footsteps behind Selendis, undeniable … yet this time was different. Selendis froze in place, her mind brushing against something titanic and frigid, a tiny ship confronting a massive comet, or Braxis itself. Fear, uncontrolled fear gripped Selendis. She could not look back. _Something_ waited behind her, waited for her to turn, and it was as enormous and cold as space itself.

So she took an uncertain step forward. Then another. An anguished and mechanical moan echoed through the ship, followed by another pair of footsteps. Something slavered behind her; she could hear spit dripping on to the catwalk. Selendis paused, summoned her strength, and _ran_ , guided as much by instinct and fear as she was pure willpower.

Shuffling footsteps followed her own panicked advance, a far clumsier and more sluggish pursuit than Selendis had dared to hope. The door before her, nevertheless, did not grow any closer. Selendis pushed on, hearts beginning to ache, blood thundering in her skull as she inched closer over that impossible difference, the red light through the craft now flashing crazily, the shadows seeming to leap at her as she passed, an echoing electronic scream following in her wake…

The door flew open well before Selendis had reached it, revealing only pitch black darkness beyond it. Selendis paused at the opening, a primal fear of whatever lay behind her battling with the other primal fear of starving in the dark, slowly withering away through the deprivation of that key resource. _There is only one way forward …_ The footsteps behind her grew more certain, the shuffling turning to a muffled pounding, drawing closer by the moment. Selendis threw herself into the darkness, the door flying closed behind her, separating her from the creature … and plunging her into the black.

Selendis lit her psi blades, the small yet intense light revealing the floor, if nothing else. _The same as before._ Hearts slowing ever so gradually, Selendis took her first hesitant steps. The winds had died. Quiet and darkness reigned within the Reaper now.

Selendis continued onward, her mind only tentatively reaching out now, all too aware that even if Karadas could not hear her, she was not alone. She could barely see more than three feet in front of her, little more than a stride and a half for her. Pressure mounted in her skull.

She crept onward, psi blades held before her face, illuminating the horrid path she found herself on. The dark pressed in, almost seeming angry at Selendis's luminous intrusion, at the psi blades she bore. The minutes dragged on in silence, the only sound being the tentative clank of Selendis's boots.

The entire ship flashed bright red, and Selendis fell to her knees as an earth-shattering noise filled her skull, filled her very being, a noise deep and terrible and filled with hate, signifying the end of all civilizations through its presence, ripping her thoughts aside and leaving only naked terror.

The sound went on and on, a bellow that almost defied description, threatening to shake Selendis's soul apart simply through its bass. Selendis, eyes shut, hearts threatening to burst, pulled herself up and ran forward blindly, knowing instinctively that it would stop, that it would all stop if she made progress and proceeded to the next identical catwalk, with whatever horrors it entailed.

The red crept in through the eyelids, filling her mind with the color of blood. Selendis sprinted onward, all thoughts cast aside, only a desire to escape the pain remaining. Even after she passed the threshold and the noise vanished, the red remained for a moment, the sound with it. It rang through her brain, the afterimage lingering far too long for Selendis to take any solace in escaping. When she opened her eyes, body shaking, she felt nothing but exhaustion at seeing another catwalk as far as the eye could see, lit with blue once again.

For a few moments she gathered her strength, trying to remember the countless years she had spent learning the ways of the Templar, of studying the art of war and bloodshed. _I am prepared to die, even without the Khala. I … I must remember that there is an escape. Even if I lack the strength to find it myself, I am not alone. The Daelaam Protectorate will come for me._

As Selendis looked up, something caught her eye, a prone figure of gold near the center of the catwalk, sprawled across the center. _One of my brethren?_ Selendis, though her legs shook from her previous exertion, still sprinted forwards, fear not forgotten, but certainly outstripped by cautious relief. She propelled herself forward, calling out with her mind. _Nothing. Yet, if they were dead, their suit would have carried them away from here._ The figure did not shrink away like the door, and Selendis stood over it. The fear returned promptly.

There she lay, Selendis herself, her face withered and gray from light starvation. Her armor was coated in a thick layer of dust, and when Selendis reached out and brushed it with a finger, the tip came away with a film of it. She stared down at her own corpse, the fear rising, unsure of whether this was an illusion, whether she had gone mad, or what this could possibly mean even if the other two were true or not. Her own lifeless and desiccated face stared back, the eyes lifeless and gray.

Selendis stepped past her own corpse gingerly, unwilling to disturb it, whether it was real or not. _I would … I would know if I was alive. If nothing else, can a sapient not be sure of that?_

Words were burned into the next door, words that twisted and turned even as Selendis watched, wriggling to form awkward approximations of the Khalani alphabet.

 **Tyrant.**

The word meant little to Selendis, yet she still felt a chill. The word was burnt hard into the door, somehow more solid than the thing itself. The door did not open at Selendis's approach; the letters only darkened, turning from the deepest of blacks to a dark crimson. The door did not open. Selendis turned to look back at her own corpse, but no trace of it remained. Her mind reached out, and felt only cold. Pressure mounted in her skull yet again.

When Selendis turned, a great maw of emptiness greeted her, yet another expanse of dark. This time she advanced immediately, psi blades drawn, ready for whatever lay in the choking black, ready to put her own death behind her.

The psi blades puttered out and died. The door slammed behind her. _So. Advance or starve … as I might have done before._

Part of Selendis wanted to simply curl up in a corner and wait for the end, whatever it might have been. The rest of her sneered at that part. _A Templar is not deadly for her weapons alone. I am bereft of the Khala, of any assistance, and now of my psi blades … these are naked intimidation tactics, growing ever greater in their blatancy._ A fire grew within Selendis, warming her even in the pitch darkness and bone chilling cold. Her steps forward were certain, her mind filled with crystal. _There is only one way forward … I will not be broken._

Something blue hovered in the distance. The howling wind faded, and the metal gave way to earth. When Selendis felt out with her feet, it was to find no trace of the catwalk. The metal of the Reaper had given way to … a cavern? _A change of tactics? A new test? Some fresh horror?_ Selendis approached the light, her body flooding with involuntary relief at the source of nourishment.

Tassadar floated in place, eyes glowing, nerve cords waving behind him. He burned with energy, his golden armor glimmering in what little light he cast from himself, a warp blade on one wrist, a psi blade on the other. He turned in midair and stared at Selendis as she approached. _Blasphemy, to use an illusion of the Twilight Messiah so…_

"It is blasphemy to cling to the Khala when you cannot feel it, Executor." Tassadar's voice, deep and familiar, filled with Selendis, making her pause. Despite herself, a great well of sadness opened within her. _To hear your voice again … for that is your voice. If this is an illusion, it is cruel indeed. If only you had lived. You are so sorely needed…_

"Do you think me dead?" Tassadar cocked his head, anger and disbelief pouring from his body. "I have not tasted death, nor shall I ever. My body faded and my mind fled in all directions, yet I did not die. I was summoned here to judge you for your folly." Tassadar lowered himself, his feet touching the ground. He strode forward with that familiar certainty and boldness, bringing himself but a foot before Selendis. He stared into her eyes for a few long moments, making Selendis hope desperately that what he said were true. _Could he be … reassembled like this? Could we bring him back, and unify our race truly?_

"You disgust me," said Tassadar, bringing all of Selendis's hopes down in a single instant, replacing it with dread and shock. "The Khalai wield the Khala, the Nerazim cling to the Void, but you? What are you, a creature deaf to the gestalt and yet unwilling to embrace the Void? Too proud to accept the birthright of the Nerazim, and too stupid to surrender worship of the Khala. I wielded both, and know the merits of each. To see them discarded so…"

"You are not Tassadar," said Selendis, voice shaking even so, as the memories came flooding back of the bold Executor who had preceded her, and taught her the value of defiance. "He died for all of us, for all races. He would not say such things."

"Hubris, to claim what I would or would not say. So like Artanis and Ulrezaj, my so-called "disciples," claiming their every action is the will of Tassadar, that I would have wanted it so." Tassadar's eyes flashed red. "I surrendered my corporality for you fools? That you would squander my legacy on bloody crusades and fruitless alliances with lesser races? You have failed me. Each and every one of you. You cannot stop what is coming. Nor do you deserve to."

"I have no time for parlay with blatant illusions." Selendis turned on her heel, eyes shut, head pounding. _A pitch perfect imitation of voice, if not countenance. Adun forgive me, but my hearts break even in the face of such obvious falsehood._

"You would turn your back on the Templar to whom you owe everything?" Tassadar's outrage blistered Selendis's retreating back, but she only stepped further into the darkness, unwilling to acknowledge the sacrilege any further. "How fitting. The Templar absent of both Void and Khala abandons the Templar who embraced both."

Selendis paused at that, but did not turn. _It is truth, of a sort. But Tassadar never sought to harm others with such truths._ Selendis continued onward. Tassadar chuckled, and his laughter deepened, screams of static intermixing it. The roiling black gave way to hellish red, and Tassadar faded back into memory, his voice dying. The darkness gave way to the brightest of crimsons.

A pylon, massive and red, hung silently overhead. The landscape had changed from soil and empty darkness to a great steaming chamber with a floor of thick mesh, the sixty foot pylon occupying the center of it. Up above, steel chains rattled from the ceilings, stretching halfway to the ground below. Great fans whirred overhead, sending spinning shadows across the dull red floor. Far below, something burned and squelched. Great machines heaved and chewed on an unknown material, sending strips of something small and curiously organic looking along endless conveyor lines, processing and converting it into something new. _A factory of some kind._ Fear rose in Selendis's throat again, but mostly she only felt confusion. The pylon throbbed and floated ominously overhead.

" **Harbinger. The first."** The air roiled, boiling with some sudden and unseen energy. Selendis recoiled but did not collapse, warding off the blast of heat and intent with her hands. She stood below the pylon, back straight, fists clenched, defiant against what she suspected was the heart of a god.

" **Majesty. The second."** Selendis stood her ground this time, letting the heat wash across herself without letting it get a hold. The endless factories chugged and churned below while the chains jingled overhead.

" **Tyrant. The third."** No blast of heat this time, just a strange note of finality. The pylon hummed as the air around it distorted, strange and vast energies playing across its surface and the space around it. **"So long, tied to this plane by a wounded fingertip. I would have an end."**

"You are a Reaper." It seemed an obvious statement, yet Selendis felt it appropriate to start simple. _So. The terror might have been worth it. I stand before the Reaper's intelligence._

" **We have borne many names. It does not matter. What matters is our purpose. And I can no longer fulfill mine."** The air rippled. The machines grinded and groaned below, steadily chewing their disgusting meal. **"You bear marks of the xel'naga, our misguided brothers who sought a different apex. I am not surprised some survived our purge."**

"You know of the xel'naga?" Selendis stared up at the vast pylon, unsure of where to start, of whether the Reaper was even listening. "What do you know of them?"

" **Enemies, long dead. Irrelevant. Their songs have not echoed across the stars in eons."** Distant thunder sounded from within the pylon, causing it to dip towards the ground, shaking the mesh upon the ground and making Selendis stumble. **"I am done with this realm. I will leave the holy purpose to my brothers. I would have an end."**

"You speak cryptically." Selendis shook her head. "If you have a request, it is best to speak plainly. And I will not act unless it is in the best interests of my people."

Selendis's vision flashed red, a low growl filling her skull.

" **I can return you to endless corridors filled with enraged metal coupling with rancid meat."** The steam rose from below. **"I can subject you to the Void you deny yourself, and let you drown under an ocean of entropy. You are not even an insect under my gaze. You are a parasite crawling within the belly of an insect, fattening yourself upon the detritus of a being whose magnitude you cannot comprehend, only feed off of and envy."**

Selendis shook her head and stood firm. "We have slain one of your number already. Sovereign, the one the geth call Nazara. I will not aid you in the face of threats, regardless of the task. I have questions, and you will answer them!"

" **Sovereign. Nazara. Geth. I do not know these names."** The images of carnage faded. **"Thirty-seven million years of silence, broken by you. Parasite. I know little of worth. My greatness resides in the Void between all existence, the well from which your Nerazim draw strength. I am held to this realm by a wounded fingertip, that which you see as my form. You may ask a single question. And then you must destroy the ship, that which you see as "Reaper.""**

Selendis paused, almost asking why Tyrant needed her to destroy him, but thought better of it. _A single question? Tyrant might lie, it may be a trick, or … I might get it wrong._

 _What would Aldaris ask? Perhaps whether the Reapers could be reasoned with? Fenix or Artanis would ask how they might be destroyed. Tassadar … how would Tassadar use this opportunity?_

"The geth said that the Reapers cleanse life every fifty thousand years," said Selendis slowly. "Yet they strike only through intermediaries at present, Sovereign having been destroyed while trying to access the Citadel. The Reapers are afraid. What are they afraid of, that would prevent them from striking?"

The pylon groaned, cracks appearing across the surface. A blast of heat struck Selendis's face, this step forcing her to take a step backwards and shield herself with an outstretched hand. The chains clanked crazily across the ceiling. The great factory below churned and shook.

" **There is nothing so wasteful as a bloody harvest."** A hint of pain crept into Tyrant's voice. **"Every time one of our number is destroyed in a cycle, we have failed. Every time a civilization is extinguished in our passing, rather than ascended, we have failed. Every time we arrive too late to prevent the annihilation of a species at the hands of itself or another, we have failed. If the cycle is polluted by the actions of another, then we, that which you know as Reapers, run the greatest of risks…"** The machine paused, and Selendis stared up at the great red pylon, which pulsated with heat, with rage, with … grief. **"…that of bringing ruin instead of heaven. If the galaxy is rendered aware, if they are told to make a fight of it, then we cannot risk intervention. The greatest of tragedies is that of an intelligent species being destroyed. That is what that which you know as Reapers fear. They stay the hand out of love."**

"Love." Selendis stared up at the pylon, wondering if the old ship had gone insane. "That … clarified little."

" **Your question is answered. Reach out."** Selendis's arm extended before she could even think, something hard and invisible blocking part of her arm's passage. Guided by hidden hands, she found something small and cylindrical, embedded in unseen metal. _Pull._

Selendis's vision flashed. The pylon, the chains, the factory melted away, leaving her confused and alone, standing before the ship's core, something small and metal in her grip.

"Executor?" Karadas called out, his mind a blissfully welcome presence. "Executor! I have been trying to contact you for hours! What has happened?"

"I am … uncertain." The core thrummed and pulsed, a great expanse of blue surrounded by a cage of metal. Selendis studied the device in her hand, that which she had pulled free of a wall. _Filled with blue wiring. Gives me a headache._ "The Reaper … subjected me to a series of illusions. It wishes to die." Selendis stared up at the core. "Can you tether it to your ship? I am going to strike down the core."

"We cannot remain long here, Executor!" Karadas sounded more scared than Selendis felt, staring into the pulsating heart of Tyrant. "Where must I pull the vessel? The pull of the planet will not permit us to stay here with the Reaper attached to us."

"Geth space," said Selendis firmly. "And … when I return … I will need to be taken to Aiur. I sense a presence in my mind, whispering fruitlessly. It must be cleansed."

Selendis did not wait for Karadas's response, instead tossing aside the device and focusing all of the uncertainty, all the rage, and all the panic upon her palms, readying something beautiful. Something a Reaper would be proud to be slain by.

The light played around her fingertips, red and blue flashing, occasionally producing purple. Selendis reached out for the core, the energy splaying from her fingertips … and felt the entire ship shudder. The element zero lit up, a whine filling the ship as the immense energies became overexcited, and then overwhelmed. Something crashed to the ground from the ceiling behind Selendis.

With a final shudder, the core jerked and died, its insides cooling as Selendis's projected psionics had their intended effect, stopping an old and uncertain heart, kept beating by ancient machinery. The shadows around Selendis lost their malevolence, and whatever old ghost haunted the ship departed, a slight aroma of bliss left in its wake.

Selendis stared at where Tyrant's heart had been, mulling over his words. _Love. Of all thing, love motivates these beings. Or so Tyrant at least claims._ She hoped that was what Tassadar would have asked. _I doubt I would have earned myself any kind of productive answer by asking how to destroy the things._

The wind howled as Mnemosyne began to suck in the ship, making it judder and shake. The movement stopped soon enough, however, as Karadas pulled the vessel away and prepared for a long jump back to the geth. _And then … to Aiur. Cleanse the sickness from my mind, this "love."_

The false Tassadar's words still echoed in Selendis's memory, not easily silenced in the quiet of the dead ship. Selendis stood in place and waited, gently glancing off Karadas's mind and relishing the sensation of knowing she was not alone.

 _No Void. No Khala. And yet I have slain an ailing god. Does that put me on par with Tassadar?_

Somewhere outside the galaxy, the Reapers waited, out of love. Selendis stared back at them, feeling a strange mix of pity and fear.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**

 **A/N: Moving at a good clip. Pretty sure this will be done by the end of the year.**


	41. Forward, Always Forward

**Alexei**

Alexei turned on the light with a light touch, a mere tap where normally there would be a pound. The QEC terminal flickered into activity before him, the only terminal in the fleet with the means to contact Earth or vice-versa. On the terminal keyboard, a single golden light flicked on and off, an indication of someone waiting on the other end. Alexei was quite familiar with that light. He had been checking and ignoring it for the past two months.

 _Everything is well in hand. I have a schedule to keep._ Alexei checked his watch, a growing habit he found, these days. Even while delegating continually and to the best of his ability to humans and colonials both, he still found himself swamped day after day. _And it helps numb the … everything. Work for the daytime, vodka for the night. If only there were a means of clouding my dreams._

Alexei stepped forward, wondering how many times Gerard had spoken to Hackett at this terminal, what they had spoken of, what kind of pangs Gerard must have felt at knowing the person he was speaking to was still on Earth, where his children were. _No … I cannot dwell on that._ Alexei removed his hat and wiped the sweat off his brow. Then, his mind turning to a quiet hum of intent, he pressed the button and entered the terminal.

Admiral Hackett was not the one who appeared. And yet Alexei felt no surprise, only a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction at a suspicion confirmed.

"Director Bolivar," he said, inclining his head rather than offering a salute, his lip curling at the Brazilian woman's raised eyebrows, the shock quickly giving way to a masking smile. "I was told to expect Admiral Hackett. I hope he is well?"

"The Admiral is occupied at the moment," replied Bolivar, putting her arms behind her back and clearing her throat. "I was told to expect Admiral DuGalle … over a month ago. What has happened? Where is he? Why have we seen no signs of evacuation from the Sector? What are you fools doing?"

Alexei smiled, but his insides roiled with a black rage, the anger stinging his throat and eyes. He blinked once, resisting the urge to wipe away some of the moisture with his sleeve, instead simply staring at the blasted woman, with her lengthy black hair and well-trimmed nails, so far removed from what he had been dealing with. _Hackett I can respect, his potential sympathies be damned. That man has stood in trenches filled with shit and gore and refused to back down. But you?_

"Dead," he replied shortly, prompting a sharp intake of breath followed by a hurried nod. "Killed in action at the hands of the zerg." _Well, rachni, but there is no point getting into minutiae._ "I am in command now. Retreat is impossible."

"It's impossible because you are in command?" asked Bolivar, raising a single perfect eyebrow. "If you give me twenty minutes I can bring in Admiral Hackett to give you the order to retreat himself. The geth-"

"The geth answer to the protoss, and the protoss have made their expectations quite clear." Alexei licked his lips, torn between wanting to relish the sudden cessation of motion on the woman's face as her hopes and dreams burned around her, and feeling shame over bludgeoning her ego by appealing to alien authority. "The zerg have reemerged under a new leader. Over two thousand UED troops have been abducted by unknown alien forces. And the protoss are very keen on learning Earth's location, which I have so far denied them. That will last only so long as we cooperate to the letter, and that means _staying put_."

"I see." Bolivar pursed her lips and nudged a tendril of hair from her face. _Thinking. What is she thinking?_

"I can send you a video we made documenting our success in Augustgrad." Alexei smiled. "For the benefit of the public. It includes footage of combat, Mengsk's execution, Gerard's funeral, and our ongoing efforts to secure the Sector, our reasons for remaining. I think Earth would find some value in it, no?"

The woman's brow furrowed as she opened her mouth and closed it. _Ah. I see. Would it? What lies have you been spinning to the people while the bulk of the fleet has been away? What, exactly, is Hackett busy with?_

"It would be appropriate," she said slowly, making Alexei wonder just what would become of the footage if he sent it to her. "Vice – I'm sorry, Admiral – what are you hoping to gain by remaining out there? We got word that you began Phase Two, thawing out the governors and engineers to begin assimilation – but what will you tell the troops when there is no Phase Three? When none of them can come home?"

"I am working on the Reaper threat at present, ma'am." Alexei smiled, even through the building headache behind his eyes. "Until this threat is dealt with – an aggravating ordeal, considering its nebulousness – the troops understand perfectly that no one can go home. Our missing comrades must be recovered, the protoss must be satisfied, and any potential threats to Earth proper must be pacified." _And while that could take a while, I have no intention of holding these people out here until there is a mutiny. We have lost too many men already._ "I assure you … I am following all existing orders and mandates to the best of my ability. The mitigating circumstances are just … extreme."

"So I imagine." Bolivar's anxiety now disappeared, a smile of her own decorating her browned face. "Very well, Admiral. I will trust in your ability to resolve these matters, and will accept all manner of video updates for the betterment of the public. I will also trust that, when the time comes, you will return to Earth to receive your due for your efforts here."

 _My due?_ Alexei resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _I have heard that manner of language before, suka. I have used it. What has become of Earth? What have you done to my UED?_

"Shall we cut the bullshit, Director?" Alexei let the hidden sneer escape, let the nostrils flare at Bolivar's upraised eyebrows. "I wondered why the former SAC nations wanted to provide so little to the Expeditionary Armada in terms of personnel. I am done imagining now. Where is Admiral Hackett? Busy quelling uprisings all over Earth and Mars? Or ... starting them?"

"Admiral, I have no idea what you are talking about." The Director straightened, staring at a point several inches to Alexei's left. "The United Earth Directorate is, as always, a unified front against the alien-"

"Spare me this mockery of patriotism, Bolivar." Alexei clenched his fists. "We were there, weren't we, at the inception of this crusade? I watched you try to dissuade the UPL from committing to this endeavor before finally acquiescing. I should have known that you would simply attempt to capitalize on the absence of so many good and loyal men and women of Earth, once you had failed to force us into cowardice."

"Is arguing against traveling many thousands of light years to wage war on foes who are of no threat to us "cowardice," now, Alexei?" Bolivar snorted, finally meeting his gaze. "Did that sentence sound ridiculous? It did to me, for that is what we have done. Pledged countless trillions of credits, millions of lives, and the bulk of our strength to something totally unnecessary. And now Earth itself is under threat … because of men like you."

"Men like me are Earth's best defense." Alexei shook his head. "You do not understand the scale of this threat yet, and you would deny it even if you did. Have the geth told you of the supposed plans of the Reapers? Does the phrase, "galaxy-wide extinction event," mean anything to you, Bolivar? Such a calamity can only be combatted by men. Like. Me."

"You have left Earth exposed, both to your enemies and your allies." Bolivar folded her arms. "Are you imaging a vast popular uprising, riots in the streets? Don't. All I did was release a handful of documents regarding that little disaster on Luna Base, and a few on certain unsavory psionic experiments. And then, of course, I made sure everyone knew that we stood practically alone as a pathetic dystopia, matched only by the batarians. I let people draw their own conclusions … and pointed out that the men who could stop us from taking action had left."

"I appreciate the honesty." Alexei inclined his head, partially to hide an unwelcome contortion of the face. _I never truly intended to go home … but it is quite another thing to learn that it might no longer be an outright option._ "I applaud you, Bolivar, for that is exactly what I would have done in your stead. I assume Hackett has sided with you?"

"Hackett has sided with the public." Bolivar chuckled. "And the public has sided with me. Alexei … listen. It does not have to be like this. If you promise to return as soon as you are able, if you promise to return peacefully-"

"I built my life upon the UPL and UED," replied Alexei, cutting her off swiftly. "I rose in the ranks. Fought, killed, and bled for the sake of that old government. I came out here as much to satiate my own desires to lay waste to the enemies of humanity as well as to unfurl the eagle's wings on as many worlds as possible. The bulk of humanity's fleets rest with me. Not the UED's, mind – humanity's. Warfield lives, and has added his strength to mine. I would think carefully before trying to talk down to me. Before asking me to commit treason."

"You would support the institutions that have tortured you throughout your life?" Bolivar took a step forward, swiping one hand through the air as she unfolded her arms. "You would support the polity that nearly took everything from you, simply on the basis of your-"

"Yes, I would." Alexei relished the expression of mixed shock and disgust that descended upon Bolivar's face. "You would return us to wasteful democracy and the tyranny of uneducated masses. And, to be quite blunt, if I managed to suffer under and yet still succeed within the UPL and UED, I see little reason for anyone else to be unable to." He sighed. "I suppose my homecoming will have to be a bloody one, then. We'll see whether the public prefers to cling over manufactured outrage over likely falsified documents, or their countries left untouched by orbital bombardment. Think on that. This exchange is over." Alexei stepped out of the QEC, ignoring Bolivar's mumbled protest as he left her vision and hearing.

"EDI, cut the connection." The faint hum of electricity died behind Alexei. He paused and shut his eyes, trying to find some easy means of salvaging the situation. _…no. There is not much I can do. I do not know how much of what she said is true, I do not know the status of the other Directors and whether Hackett is compromised … and most importantly, I do not know if I could order this Armada to open fire on Earth and expect the order to be followed. I would not be surprised to learn that their time spent out here has … disillusioned them._

"Aria is waiting in the conference room, Admiral." The machine spoke without any emotion that Alexei could detect, but he well remembered its words before Korhal. _Can it be pushed to go insane once again? Am I treading that line?_

"I have a schedule to keep," muttered Alexei, checking his watch and nodding. _Earth … we might no longer have the backing of Earth. The Third Phase, solidifying and affirming control of these colonies, that is clearly no longer going to happen._

 _Extreme measures must be taken._

"I am inbound, EDI." Alexei left the room behind, the lights turning off automatically at EDI's behest. "Your directive – am I still in line with it?"

"You spoke no falsehoods regarding the protoss's commands, Admiral." The machine's tone remained neutral. "The Reaper threat also demands an answer." _Good. Good. The machine and myself remain aligned by pragmatism. If we win this, however, the return to Earth may become a harder sell … damn this AI! My every action is bound to its cooperation, which I am beginning to realize is now by no means a guarantee!_

Alexei walked through the halls of _Aleksander_ feeling as if he carried some kind of incubating disease. All around him walked UED personnel of various stripes, only bound by the simple commonality of not knowing what he knew. That there might not be a return. That the flag they swore allegiance to might not have any meaning to the planet of their birth any longer. _Extreme measures._

Aria lounged in the conference room, her legs dangling off of one chair, totally at ease even despite the presence of two armed guards at both entrances. _Confidence in her biotics no doubt._ Dull purple markings adorned her face, and despite her desperate run of bad luck since her arrival in the Korpulu Sector, she still stared at Alexei with mild amusement and curiosity rather than fear. _Ah. A privileged individual. We shall see whether it is privilege earned by birth, a la the late Mr. Hock, or something I can actually respect._

"Admiral Alexei Stukov." She did not rise from her chair, only continuing to stare at Alexei as he might stare at a bug with unusual coloration.

"Aria. You're a long way from home, I understand. Protoss unwilling to give you a lift?"

Aria smiled at Alexei, but it was little more than an acknowledgement of mixed irritation and mild respect at being willing to needle her. _These asari, they are not so different from us. They simply lucked out on the lifespan front. And the biotic front. And, judging from the field reports of a few of my officers down in the Dominion proper, the looks front as well._ _A pity your charms have no sway on me. The scalp in particular looks just … disgusting._

"You could say that," replied Aria casually, leaning back in her chair, raising her legs and planting them firmly on a chair next to her, creating a makeshift couch. She sent a glance to Alexei that was full of challenge, but he had little interest in such a petty pissing match. He sat opposite her at the table, fingers steepled, watching her every movement. "They didn't seem sympathetic when I told them I needed to return to my crime empire. And the Umojans are refusing to let me through their relay – something about being a bad influence to Aethyta and Tevos."

"They are all truly selfish and shortsighted people." A genuine smile from Aria this time, if not any laughter. "Do you not trust Mr. Kelham to keep everything in order while you make the long journey back?"

"In a word, no." Aria made an airy gesture with her hand. "The Morians need their business partners close and at a parity of strength to keep them honest. Hence why you can trust Santiago to do your bidding for as long as necessary. Kelham is not close, and my most loyal forces were badly spent against the Dominion. There are enough opportunists on Omega to make my homecoming a very short one, if they are given enough time to prepare, even if Kelham weren't part of the picture."

"And yet I caught you at Relay 119, preparing to make that journey home regardless."

"It's been a long time since I took out the last ruler of Omega. That was the last real challenge I had." Aria shrugged. "I'm prepared to take all comers on my own, if need be. Then again, I wasn't aware there were other options." Her eyes flicked to one of the marines at the door and then back to Alexei. "And I have a feeling you are going to provide me with one."

"I need Kelham dead. His family too, if possible." Alexei unsteepled his fingers and set his wrists against the table, giving Aria a clear view of his face. He maintained eye contact, idly wondering how his life had taken such turns, when he would be forced to strike deals with aliens. "I need as much influence and intel as possible outside the Koprulu Sector, especially in non-Council space. Most importantly, I need aliens from a variety of species to be shipped to Tuchanka, likely within the next five weeks, if all goes well."

"I'm not going to become a puppet ruler for you." Aria removed her legs and sat upright, bringing her head to a height with Alexei's perhaps a hair or two taller. "I am Omega-"

"You will be fully independent. I do not give a damn how you run your space station. This is an exchange of military strength." Aria quieted, eyes slightly narrowed, her fingers tapping against the table. "I supply Fifth Fleet and Rear Admiral Mikhailovich. You take them to Omega. You may deal with resistance however you please. And then I want two things in return – boons if you will." Alexei held up a finger. "One – keep as many Terminus warlords as you can from striking at the Council while the protoss get their space organized. You do not want the mouthless bastards in your space. I have a feeling they will be far less understanding of the Terminus Systems than they were with the Council." He held up a second finger. "Two – I need a variety of aliens shipped to Tuchanka, numbers to be determined, sites to be determined. This is by request of a gentleman who is trying to cure the Genophage. While the work is noble, the methods are not. Try not to send innocents or anyone you would lose sleep over if something terrible happened to them."

"That's it?" Aria cocked her head. "That's all I need to do to buy Omega back?"

"Kelham will need to die as well, but I imagine that will go without saying." Alexei inclined his head. "I am unfamiliar with Omega or the asari, but my understanding is that you prefer to rule alone."

"There is no other way to rule." Aria's fingers stopped dead on the table. "The warlords might be a bit tricky to reign in … I hope you are willing to accept if a handful slip through the cracks?"

"So long as this "handful" doesn't end up leaking back to you or enraging the protoss." Alexei stared into Aria's eyes, accepting the implicit challenge. "And I don't want any terrans in the mix of people being sent to Tuchanka. Understood?"

"Few enough of you people on Omega. Deal." Aria rose first and then waited. Alexei rose second and extended his hand, which Aria took and shook roughly. "How quickly can this be arranged?"

"Everything's on schedule. Quickly enough." Alexei gave a stiff bow, feeling dirty for doing so. _A queen … but an alien queen, nonetheless._ "I will alert the Rear Admiral. If you will excuse me."

The guards moved to gently escort Aria back to her ship while Alexei activated his omnitool, freshly upgraded with recovered colonial technology. _And my, what a difference having the genuine article makes. The aliens are quite ahead of us on the particle science front._

"Schrader." Alexei spoke into the omnitool and paused, waiting for the man to drop whatever he was doing. "Culexus. Report."

"Khaydarin crystals are still a limiting factor," replied Schrader, his voice slightly affected by static as he replied. "Production of additional bombs or a larger tonnage of bombs is impossible until we get more. We have found something interesting during our tests, however."

"Elaborate." Alexei nodded to a pair of passing officers as he proceeded by the, his wrist extended before him. He flicked his eyes left to his watch. _Ahead of schedule, now._

"We'd need a few humans of 8 or higher on the psi scale to properly confirm it, but it seems at the highest frequencies, only those past a certain threshold of strength are affected. It can be set so that organisms who are psionically attuned but only to a certain degree will be left unaffected by the frequency." Schrader paused. "This … could afford us some target selection. We also believe – although it requires further testing – that the larger the source of psionic energy, the more violently it will react to the frequency. Our largest chunk of crystal has suffered a greater amount of stress than the others, and appears on the verge of breaking entirely. I would be curious to see the effects of this device on something of a greater scale – the zerg or protoss, with their collective intelligences, leap to the forefront."

"We can collect zerg specimens, although protoss are currently out of the question." Alexei frowned, wondering if this was truly an avenue ultimately worth pursuing. _Because if it is not, what I am about to do would be such a waste._ "Speak plainly: what are your major concerns about this project as it stands?"

"Very limited range," replied Schrader immediately, making Alexei nod. "The most we've been able to extend the Culexus effect is about twenty square feet. To be sure, anything that's able to lift things with its mind is going to be in big trouble almost immediately but … well … given the cost of what we're doing, successful implementation of these things is going to be tricky. There needs to be a conduit of some sort, unless you want to try locking all the protoss in a 20x20 room?"

"I am sure they would find a means of fitting, but I understand your concern." Alexei stopped in front of the door to a secondary QEC, which appeared thankfully unoccupied for the moment. "Hmm. These devices will also require field testing before they can be fully committed to." _I understand that these Reaper servants are fairly attuned. The autopsies bore that out. And we are certainly not hurting for zerg._ "Keep at it. I will see what I can do about the crystals. And the subjects."

"Understood, Admiral. Out." Alexei let the omnitool fade and opened the door. _Ahead of schedule. Keep at it. Don't slow down._ He hit a few keys on the terminal and stood in the center, waiting.

"Admiral." Vice Admiral Ahern's glowing figure saluted him. "You're just on time, I was about to turn in for the night. Do you have new orders, sir?"

"I need to get ahold of Vido Santiago. Do you think you can get him to stop looting and pillaging for about five minutes and get him up to your ship?"

Ahern rubbed the bag of his neck. "It's a tall order, sir, but I'm sure he'll jump for it once he hears your name. You have an hour or so to burn?"

"I have all the time in the world, Vice Admiral." Alexei waved him off. "I will wait here."

Ahern vanished, followed shortly by the closure of the QEC channel. Alexei heaved a deep sigh and reopened his omnitool, this time to contact someone he trusted as far as he could throw.

"Warfield." Alexei spoke the word and waited for the inevitable guttural response from the man. _The time will soon come for him to leave Korhal, and begin putting out these fires all over the Dominion. But first, I must make quite certain that he will obey my orders … even if it means manufacturing a false Valerian Mengsk's body. Where in the hell did that boy go? Gerard, why did you stay the hand for so long?_

"Admiral." The response came quite grudgingly, as if Warfield could not believe he answered to Alexei. _Which is quite likely. I find it difficult to believe that he answers to me as well._ "New orders?"

"That new Alliance at our borders, the DUAS, has requested Tarsonis as a potential world for the quarian people to inhabit." Alexei smiled as he heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end. "It is within former Dominion space, but the UED has no formal claim to it, and the planet lacks inhabitants other than zerg. I must confess, the aliens have made a strong case for it; they have even volunteered for sections of the planet to be set aside for any terrans that might wish to return to it. How do you, as a proud colonial general, feel about this?"

"I feel that Tarsonis is … complicated." _A calculated answer._ Alexei almost laughed but thought better of it. "The Emperor made little effort to recover the planet after it was … lost. I think he was afraid of what people might find. You should be, too."

"I was thinking of dispatching a small team to assist with zerg clean up and salvage," replied Alexei, glancing at the QEC momentarily before feeling like a fool. _No, Vido has to be pulled up from the planet. That will take longer than a few minutes._ "To help keep the quarians and Umojans honest. Other than that, I see little reason to refuse them, given their stated reasoning and their protoss ties. Breeding further antipathy with this new alliance seems unwise. We could have much to gain through cooperation." _Yes, we can each thrive on our bided time before the protoss release their grip and I lay waste to Umoja and its fool notions of government and alien fraternization._ _And if we dig up any Confederacy tech while we're down there, so much the better._

"You would need to spin this correct - oh." Alexei openly laughed this time as Warfield came to his realization. "You're voluntelling me."

"No. You're volunteering." Alexei coughed into his elbow to hide his next slight bout of laughter. "The people trust you, for you are the most visible carry over from the Dominion. I trust you, for I know you will do what you feel is right for your people." _Unless Valerian shows up. Then you're apparently okay with letting everything burn._

"If you need me to help sell this decision, then I will do it. You're lucky the quarians aren't seen with much rancor around here; you'd have nowhere near as much luck with the batarians or turians." _Luck?_

"I will send a communique to the DUAS, then. The UED thanks you for your cooperation, General. Thank you." The line went dead before Alexei could end it himself, a reminder that beneath the manners and duty, Warfield still simmered with barely controlled rage. _Yet "barely controlled" is still controlled._

The next few minutes went by in silence while Alexei moved about the room, waiting for the terminal to light up again. He hummed to himself, fiddled with his omnitool to check the news reports on the extranet, and when out of other options, simply tapped his foot impatiently, focusing on the motion rather than whatever his brain was busy with. _Anxiety and grief for instance. We have plenty of time to decide the manner of our return to Earth. Destroying our foes out here is still our primary concern._

The terminal lit up, making Alexei nod to himself and adjust his hat atop his head. The underside of it felt damp with sweat. He punched the terminal and stepped within the QEC, trying to appear stiff and unflappable before one of the more loathsome individuals he ever had cause to work with.

"Admiral." Dark of face and graying of hair, Vido Santiago offered a lopsided grin and a half-hearted salute to his ostensible superior. His light combat armor bore many recent scorch marks and spatters of blood – a reminder that the man was efficient and merciless in his work. _Although I understand he only leads from the front when he knows there will be little resistance. So, a coward as well._

"Santiago. How goes the restructuring of Moria?"

"Quite a few streets and buildings have been, ah, "restructured."" Vido stretched his arms out, shifting his neck side to side, sending the sound of a slight crack through the QEC. "Resistance is scattered. KMs are patriots to a fault, and they're not taking the anti-slavery bent too well, especially alongside the tearing down of all their flags. Still, such things seem much less important when staring down the barrel of a gun." He shrugged. "Usually."

"But no major resistance?"

"Hock's boys are with us, and the Blue Suns were the second biggest military force the KMs could muster." Vido laughed. "No, no major resistance. I wish Archer would send his Mobius idiots in, but we're handling everything easily enough. You may want to occupy the planet for a while. We Morians know how to nurse a grudge."

"I am well aware." Alexei pursed his lips, thinking about how to phrase what he wanted done. "The reason I speak to you, Santiago, is because I understand Moria, even after two hundred plus years of habitation by Morians, remains one of the most mineral rich planets in the Sector, if not the galaxy. I am curious as to whether the miners have ever encountered a psionic rich mineral. The protoss call it "khaydarin.""

Vido opened his mouth, and then shut it, looking upwards and thinking.

"Yeah, I think we've it in a few deposits." Vido looked to Alexei with a furrowed brow. "I would double-check and send me the data, though, to make sure we're thinking of the same thing. Light blue, glows a bit, extremely good energy conductor?"

"I will send you the data." Alexei ground his teeth, wondering if Vido was the right man to give this order to. _Well, I trust him more than Archer not to work against me … but do the Morians deserve this?_

"I find myself in need for as many strategic minerals, barrels of vespene gas, and khaydarin crystals as you can possibly harvest from Moria." Vido only nodded and grinned at this order. "I do not know or care what prior restrictions the KM government placed on where, when, and how to extract some resources. I want as many of them as soon as possible, with a high priority placed on the khaydarin crystals." Alexei held up a finger as Vido opened his mouth. "I also want a recruitment drive for engineers, pilots, and soldiers. Not conscription nor slavery, the UED does not support such practices. But I want it made very clear that they will be serving humanity by working for us – which means food and board. Doubtless you have left quite a few people keen on leaving the planet with your current actions there."

"Moria's not going to be a popular vacation spot for quite a while, to be sure." Vido frowned, rubbing his chin. _Ah, he's wondering if he made the correct decision to back me, now that I'm taking action to strengthen myself through his home planet. It doesn't matter. You will follow the orders or I will find someone who will._ "So – you want me to turn this planet into a big old strip mine and recruiting center?"

"That is correct, General Santiago." Vido raised his eyebrows at the title, but Alexei saw his lips twitch. _Approval. Good._ "If people complain, I understand Tarsonis will shortly be reopened for terran and quarian habitation. If the people on Moria can get over their fascination for enslaving quarians, they will be welcome to move there once the zerg have been cleared out to an acceptable degree."

"Tarsonis, eh?" Santiago looked off to the side at something or someone Alexei could not see. "Well … alright. It all seems doable enough. Might help if you send one of those new governors of yours down here – I'm not the best at getting people organized or evacuated, and there's plenty of refugee camps and open fires down here."

"You can expect someone within a few days." Alexei checked his watch. _On schedule. Thank you, Santiago._ "Don't antagonize anyone needlessly, General. That will be all."

Vido offered a slightly less sarcastic salute this time before vanishing. Alexei vacated the room with warmth blooming in his chest and nausea settling in his stomach; the former for the progress he was making, the latter for the dependence on colonial cooperation. _The Dominion people are at least used to regime changes. Six years ago they were Confederate soldiers. But it is one thing to be conquered from within, it is another to be invaded from without._

"EDI – can you get me through to Rear Admiral Corbyn?" Alexei beat feet for his room, mouth and throat dry in anticipation of the nightly vodka, and yet unwilling to retire without setting at least one more long term objective in motion.

"Yes, Admiral. Pinging her now. There will be a slight delay in communication due to distance."

"Yes, yes."

"Admiral?" Rear Admiral Sarah Corbyn's voice came through with a slight hiss of static, redirected directly to Alexei's ear. "We are holding in Tyrador's orbit. Nothing to report. Do you have an update?"

"General Warfield used leashed zerg against Kel-Morian forces during their little spat with the Dominion." Alexei stopped and waited against a wall for a pair of medics in full armor to pass, motioning them to move quickly by him when they stopped to give him right of way. "I understand that these Reaper servants are interested in sampling such zerg. Will Tyrador burst into flames if I borrowed half of your fleet?" Alexei paused, waiting for the several seconds the message would take to reach her, and then the several seconds it would take for her response to reach him.

"I wouldn't touch the groundside forces, but otherwise a redeployment of that size shouldn't be too unmanageable." Corbyn took a sharp breath, likely wondering whether to ask the question or not. "Sir, what exactly do you intend to do with those ships and these zerg?"

"Bait the bastards who stole two thousand of our boys and girls on Korhal." Alexei continued down the corridor, brushing a bit of lint off the shoulder of his uniform. "I intend to take some samples of my own, as well as conducting a weapons test. You'll get back most of your ships in one piece, Corbyn, don't you worry." _Well, assuming they do not send a fleet to pick up the zerg. Those cruisers pack impressive firepower. Almost enough to make me consider sending for protoss assistance. Almost._

"Understood, Admiral."

"Send your ships to rendezvous at Relay 119 in three days time. I will be waiting for them. Stukov out." Alexei stopped by his door and paused to breath, his dry mouth and throat crying out for release. _Spread across almost three dozen worlds. Almost eight million troops deployed. Aliens of all stripes on every side. No way back home. This is why vodka exists._

The door opened and Alexei sealed it behind him. After a moment's pause, the lights turned on and made Alexei start. Someone stared back at him from atop his bed.

"Admiral," said Duran, smiling in a distinctly threatening manner, "I must congratulate you on your most recent promotion. Now, we must chat." Duran shifted on the bed, revealing a pistol with a lengthy barrel and attached silencer in his left hand. He gestured towards the table at which Hock had died months ago.

Alexei considered calling out, but he did not doubt that EDI could see what was going on and was sending reinforcements as they spoke. _But … if that were the case, how did this madman get in here?_ A faint note of unease crept into Alexei's chest, as he stared at the man he had in no way planned for. He prepared to sit quietly at the table, only to pause and crouch over the mini fridge, pulling free a fresh bottle of colonial vodka.

"Lieutenant Duran," said Alexei, placing the bottle on the table and sitting behind it, "I would offer you a drink, if I thought you in any way deserved one. I wondered where you went once Korhal was done."

"I had better things to do than pretend to be your mindless drone, Admiral." Duran stood from the bed and remained standing, seeming curiously taller than Alexei remembered. "I enjoyed my time with the Directorate, but now I must turn my attention to other matters. I stopped by to make a few things clear."

"Stopped by?" Alexei unstopped the bottle with a snort. "Lieutenant, you have violated the private space of the admiral in charge of all human space in this Sector, which is to say, most of this sector. You are guilty of desertion, trespassing, and potentially treason. You are not "stopping by." You are committing suicide."

"A small man's words." Duran lifted a hand, which pulsed with green light. Alexei felt a vicelike pressure tighten at his throat, making him gasp and reach for his neck. The hidden force squeezed for a few moments more before dissipating, leaving Duran smiling over Alexei. "You can no more stop me than you could save the love of your life, Admiral."

"Bastard…" Alexei stood up, only to be forced down by the shoulder, Duran's hand glowing that iridescent green yet again.

"Primitive." Duran shook his head, smile fading in place of an angry snarl. "This delusion of power you possess, it is why I am here. You hold this Sector, yes, but the Reapers hold the galaxy. The skies of every world will darken under their numbers; you would do well to appreciate the nature and scale of this threat. You make plans to topple protoss; you will desist. You look beyond the Reaper threat and plan for the uneasy peace afterwards; you will stop. There is only the coming darkness, which must be repulsed with all the galaxy's strength. Nothing else matters." Duran stepped forward, eyes gleaming. "Not your ambitions. Not Earth. Not any one species."

"What do you threaten me with, Duran?" wheezed Alexei, feeling his throat with his fingers. "Death? I have faced it down before. The only thing that mattered to me is dead. Now there is only the dream of supremacy."

"The Reapers are the only ones who can claim supremacy at this juncture." Duran stepped closer, teeth glinting in the bright light of Alexei's room. "I approve of most courses you are taking. Uniting the terrans, following the protoss directives, preparing to retaliate for the Reaper action over Korhal. But step out of line and yes, I will kill you." Duran leaned over the table, his muscled arms braced against it, the pistol laying flat with its barrel faced towards Alexei. "Worse still, you will go down in history as the admiral who failed in his duty to stand against the darkness. History will not vindicate you. Gerard's family will die. Do you understand?"

"I do not understand … why I should listen to a crazed traitor of a ghost." Alexei glared up at the man with his own teeth bared. "I have enough matters to take care of without kowtowing to the demands of some backwards colonial traitor whose only talents are grinning like a maniac and finding new ways to irritate me."

"Do not force my hand, Stukov. Do not make me visit you again." Duran stood, the pistol hanging loosely in his grip. "Now, if you do not mind, you are only the third or fourth most important person I am meeting this week. Remember this meeting, Admiral." The lights darkened. Duran faded into nothing, leaving Alexei to sit still for a few moments. The door opened and shut, and the lights reactivated. Alexei took a deep breath, waited a few moments more, and then call out for EDI.

"Lieutenant Duran is on board this ship, EDI. He was just in my room. Find him!"

"He is not showing up on your room's footage, Admiral." EDI still sounded neutral … yet Alexei swore he heard a hint of amusement. "There is nobody in the corridors outside. I cannot see Lieutenant Duran on any of my cameras."

"Alert all crews and find him! He cannot remain cloaked forever."

Alexei sat down again, fuming, his breath now coming hard and fast. He licked his lips and remembered what he had planned to do in the first place. Only … there was no longer any vodka on the table.

Alexei stared at the door, murder on his mind.

"Duran…"

Alexei had a schedule to keep. And now the most important item on the list was missing.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Valerian**


	42. Mercy and Reflection

**Valerian**

"The engine has come to a stop." Valerian turned his head to his left, where he knew one of the two quarians was seated. He might have been blindfolded, but he could distinguish the slightly filtered tones of a quarian from any terran or asari. "This is ridiculous. May I remove the blindfold now? Or at least be told why I must wear it?"

"Keep it on. It's only a short walk inside the facility." The quarian who was neither an admiral nor insane. _Tali, I think._ Valerian felt her lightly pat his arm. "Come on. I'll take you inside. Mind your head."

Valerian stood gingerly, his mind envisioning the stitches in his back ripping open as he did so, the skin parting to let the blood spill once more … yet there was only a faint sting of pain, a small wave of nausea. He kept his head bowed, uncertain if there were any overhead luggage containers, or anything that might bring the ceiling closer to his head. Someone took his hand and began leading him gently forward. _Three fingers. Probably not the admiral. She seems more the type to let me walk around on my own and take notes about how a terran's sense of balance is disrupted while they are blindfolded._

Valerian heard the familiar shouts and shuffling of pilots and crew as they made contact with the local starport staff, yelling to one another about the trip (long, bring me coffee) and the nature of the cargo (bunch of dignitaries, make sure to salute you bastards). Soft footsteps came ahead of Valerian as the other handful of passengers disembarked, Tali's footsteps directly in front of him.

"Watch your step." Valerian slowed as the air changed around him, becoming colder and less pressurized. His ears popped once as he stepped out of the craft, taking each step as slowly as he felt physically comfortable to do, each advance followed by a quick _tap, tap_ as Tali took another two steps down herself, hands still linked. "Three more."

Valerian sighed as his feet touched reassuring concrete. The air felt cold on his skin and smelled thickly of petrol and vespene – familiar scents within any hangar. The back of Valerian's neck burned, a continual irritation that seemed to plague him constantly these days. He felt for the itch and scratched it, all too aware of how raw it felt from his constant picking at it. Tali led him forward still, calling to Admiral Xen to wait for them.

"Once we're inside, all we need to do is go through a turbolift and we can get the blindfold off. Okay?" Valerian scowled at Tali's overly conciliatory words, speaking as if she were talking to a child. _Yes, yes, I'm sure there is a good reason. I would love to know what it is, but I will not go against my grandfather's wishes, nor the wishes of the High Matriarch. Not when I owe them so much._

A door hissed open ahead of them, and a blast of warm air struck Valerian's face, sending his hair backwards. He stepped into the installation proper trying not to feel ridiculous, his free hand absentmindedly running across the cloth across his eyes and flicking the top of it. He still did not pull it free, instead acquiescing to Tali's gentle tugs. Admiral Xen's dulcet tones were barely audible, but Valerian caught enough to know that some docking official was being taught a quick lesson in, "We don't have time for this, mind your own business." It apparently worked, for Tali did not even have to pause, instead pulling Valerian forward past another set of doors. Valerian sensed two more people standing to either side of him, and the doors shut with a reassuringly heavy _snap_. The room began to shake. _Turbo lift. I suppose I will be allowed to actually see where the hell I am, soon._

Valerian wasn't sure why he felt so irritable about this. Compared to living in the belly of a space whale, suffering under an enormous siege specifically geared to killing his family, and … watching that happen, this was hardly the worst ordeal he had undergone. Frankly, even the physical therapy geared towards recovering from the damnable admiral's pistol round had been a greater source of discomfort than simply being led about blindfolded by a friendly quarian. _I suppose it is simply not knowing the purpose, or suspecting that the purpose is, in a word, bullshit. Do they think me untrustworthy? Even if I could somehow determine the coordinates of this station by … looking at the stars or whatever, I would never betray it to someone else. I owe everything I still have to the Umojans, to the asari, to the quarians. To Li – no. I will not go that far._

The turbolift clunked and halted. Valerian lifted his hand to his blindfold and stared inquisitively in what he thought was Tali's direction. She laughed, a curiously pleasant sound, and lifted the blindfold off herself, the fabric running through Valerian's outstretched fingers. He squinted at the surprisingly bright light, staring at his fellow passengers aboard the turbolift.

"Admirals Xen and Zaal'Koris," said Tali, gesturing to the other female quarian and the only male quarian Valerian had ever seen, whose physique resembled a carrot; broad shoulders tapering off to a set of slim legs. He inclined his helmeted head in Valerian's direction while Xen simply ignored him and vanished out of the turbolift.

"Don't mind her," said Koris. "Only one thing can occupy her at a time, and right now that's this installation. All will be explained soon. Stay strong." He sounded sad, clapping Valerian on the shoulder in what he suspected was supposed to be a reassuring fashion before vanishing out the door.

"An explanation can't come soon enough." Valerian extended a hand before the door, motioning for Tali to go before him. She cocked her head at him, as if uncertain as to what she was seeing. _I cannot imagine quarians and terrans share similar etiquette, but I'm going to consider myself a gentleman regardless of species or situation. After you._

Tali took the hint, exiting the turbolift with a single curious glance backwards. Valerian followed suit, noting with slight surprise that, of the three quarians, she alone bore weapons; a pistol at the hip, a shotgun across the lower back, and the telltale marks of a military grade omnitool on the suited arm. _Well, she sounds and acts sweet enough. But so do resocced marines. No telling what's going on beneath the surface._

A massive neosteel bulkhead made up the majority of the room, flanked on either side by a single nine foot tall Umojan marine. Their white suits hummed with energy, and their thick oversized weapons looked more reminiscent of siege tank cannons than infantry longarms. _Eezo. If you can afford it, if you can get your hands on it, you can make a class of warrior outstripping anything short of a near demigod. Kerrigan and Liara come to mind. As do most of the protoss._

"Crown Prince Valerian." One of the Umojans shifted slightly to face Valerian, who resisted the urge to correct him. _I might not be crowned, but technically I am emperor, as per the rules of succession. The Dominion is not dead so long as I live._ "Your grandfather waits for you on the other side." The bulkhead parted with a groan, the two enormous hunks of neosteel revealing a cavernous and pearly white interior.

"Thank you." Valerian still took the rear, preferring to remain the gentleman. He stepped through the threshold and sighed, feeling oddly at home. While returning to the greenery of Umoja and visiting its myriad parks had conjured nostalgia, seeing the bustle of countless terran and asari scientists and technicians milling about in lab coats made him feel oddly at home. _It's a setting I am familiar with, certainly._

To the right of him, a vast window overlooked an enclosure below, from which Valerian could see faint hints of green. High Matriarch Aethyta and his grandfather, Ailin, stood before the center of the window, staring down into the containment area. Ailin's arms were folded, and when he turned to greet Valerian, his brow remained furrowed in what might have been dismay, overshadowing his halting smile.

"Valerian, son, it's good to see you." He stepped forward, arms outstretched. Valerian returned the hug with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude, squeezing his grandfather tightly before releasing him quickly. "How do you feel?"

"Recovered. Better." Valerian glanced at the High Matriarch, who watched the proceedings with an emotionless expression. "I mean … I still have dreams about Korhal, but the reality's sunk in. Now we have to deal with that reality." _And I intend to do it through blood. Raynor, Stukov, Petrovsky … everyone who stood there and watched. Everyone who cheered or called out "Gettysburg!" I have not forgotten your faces. I will never forget._

Grandfather nodded, shutting his eyes momentarily before turning to the quarians. "A pleasure to have you all here. There is one small matter to attend to, and then we can begin…" Grandfather shot a quick glance at Aethyta. "…figuring out how to deal with this situation."

"It seems simple enough to me," said Xen, prompting an almost immediate urge in Valerian to place his head in his hands. "The terrans have long had success in experimenting with psi emitters and disrupters, not to mention methods of mind control. It should be a simple thing to neutralize this "Queen of Ruins" and make use of what's left of her forces in whatever manner we see fit."

Zaal'Koris coughed. "I'm going to take a moment to remind everyone present that Admiral Xen's opinions do not represent the quarian people, or even the majority of the Admiralty Board. Just to make that clear."

"It's common sense," insisted Xen, rounding on her fellow admiral and presenting an impressive glare, even through the helmet. "If we're not going to outright destroy these creatures, which I assure you would be the option most in line with common sense and basic self-preservation, then they should be exploited for everything they're worth."

"That is not going to happen." Aethyta stepped away from the glass and towards Admiral Xen, meeting her gaze with ease, her normally languid demeanor now somewhat stiff and threatening. "Even ignoring my own … personal investment in Liara's wellbeing, these creatures surrendered themselves to us and requested asylum. For now, the protoss have bought our story about clearing the leviathan, and these zerg and rachni have made no move to try and escape. They are effectively our prisoners, and should be treated with the dignity of such."

"Personal investment?" asked Xen, cocking the metaphorical eyebrow. "Is the Queen of Ruins someone you recognize, High Matriarch? Some long lost by-blow?"

"Remember what we said about feelings, Admiral? About other people having them?" Tali stepped between Aethyta and Xen quickly, arms extended to either one of them. "I apologize on her behalf, High Matriarch. She doesn't-"

"I appreciate the gesture, sweetie, but I'd prefer to hear her speak honestly." Aethyta smiled at Tali with genuine warmth. "I admit, I'm a bit closer to this than I'd like, so I'll take every objective opinion I can get. And believe me, I've heard far worse." Aethyta glanced to Grandfather, who sighed. "But, we're getting ahead of ourselves."

"Valerian? How's the neck?" Valerian frowned at this, wondering how it was relevant. He felt for the back of his neck, which prickled at his touch.

"It itches, and there I have yet to find a cream that has had much effect." Valerian shrugged. "It is hardly a concern. The gunshot wound heals well, as does the finger stump. I have my bouts of nausea every now and again, but I think I am doing well."

Valerian swiftly realized something was wrong. The group assembled either looked to each other or at the ground, causing a jolt in Valerian. _Have I caught some kind of terminal illness? What's wrong?_

"There's a zerg parasite lodged in the back of your neck." Grandfather's words came out in a jumble, barely coherent. "It's latched on to your nerves and transmitting everything you see to Liara. I imagine she used it to keep track of what you saw and did on Noveria. It also allowed her to know when it would be best to jump to Korhal and attempt her rescue, once the rachni queen had won her over. It's showing her what you see right now."

Valerian's mouth hung open. His fingers, clumsy and reluctant, felt for the reddened part of his neck. He expected motion, but found none. Just the old itch, now flaring into a mild hot pain. _A … parasite?_

"It's hardly unusual," continued Grandfather hurriedly while Valerian shut his eyes and held his breath, brain shutting down as the horror began to dawn on him. "Zerg queens in the Great War used these things to spy on troop movements. One in every ten Umojan soldier who returned from Thessia had these things in him. In the chest, on a foot, latched on to a leg … apart from the itching and the occasional nightmare, they're functionally harmless. That is … unless someone's looking in."

 _And I thought I would feel better for knowing the reason behind the blindfold._ A muffled scream rose within Valerian. He turned away from the others, hand covering his mouth, feeling sick. _Tapeworms, ticks, lice, humanity is scarcely a stranger to parasites._ That was the rational part of his brain, commenting coolly in the corner while the rest of him flailed incoherently. A gasp escaped him, and his hand moved awkwardly back and forth from his neck, half wanting to avoid feeling the place where the blasted thing lived inside of him, half wanting to tear it out by any means necessary.

A strong hand grabbed his own and pulled him around. His grandfather pulled him into another hug, and Valerian did not have the strength to resist, instead going limp and resting his head on his grandfather's shoulder.

"It's alright, Valerian. I know it's a shock." His grandfather gave him a squeeze. "I suppose now you understand why we kept you blindfolded. We don't need Liara to know anything more about her location and the layout of this base than she does already, and that goes double for her … friends." _Yes. The queen and Abathur._ Valerian pulled himself away, quickly rubbing his eyes before blinking and staring at the rest of them.

"Yes." Valerian glanced at Tali, suddenly far less exasperated and far more grateful at her guiding him. "Is there … is there a means of removing the parasite?"

"It's latched on to your nerves," said Xen, folding her arms. "Any surgery would be intensely painful, and would more than likely paralyze you. Do you think the creature is going to sit still while we dig it out?"

"There's actually one way that I know of," said Grandfather, glaring at Xen. "But it is not currently an option. With sufficiently attenuated lasers and powerful nanoanesthetics, it would theoretically be possible to remove the parasite." He rubbed his own neck. "Sadly, the only people with that kind of medical knowledge and technology would be the United Earth Directorate. As I understand it, they've actually begun the process of deinfesting afflicted veterans from the Great War. But … the minute you show your face…" _Well, at least the UED is doing something worthwhile. Perhaps I will spare a few of them once they are inevitably destroyed._

"We can't rule out Liara," cut in Aethyta, looking at Valerian with genuine sympathy. "She might be able to remove the creature herself, if asked nicely. When I spoke to her, she did not refer to Valerian with any ire."

"That brings us to the main point on the agenda," said Grandfather clearly. "What, precisely, should our relationship with Liara be? We rewrote sections of our treaty to allow the swift inclusion of additional races if need be, specifically with the zerg and rachni in mind, but that is by no means final. The DUAS formed with the explicit goal of fortifying Umojan and asari space against turian and UED incursions, while also finally providing the Quarian Migrant Fleet with a proper home and polity to get behind. Liara either jeopardizes that or heavily strengthens it. Which is it going to be?"

"We've got the technical emperor of the Dominion in the room with us," said Aethyta. "We're already harboring some pretty valuable targets, and the extinction of the rachni was a tragedy; the bastards just refused to communicate. We've got a chance to remedy a few things. Zerg and rachni willing to listen to diplomacy and reason?" Aethyta whistled. "If we'd had those in the first place, there wouldn't have been a Rachni War or Great War. Aside from maybe running afoul of the protoss, I don't see too much of a risk."

"Liara slaughtered numerous people to get to the rachni queen," replied Xen with a short laugh. "She shot a parasite into Valerian's neck to spy on him. She spared him on Noveria and saved him on Korhal only because the rachni demanded it. She's a major risk. The real queen worth saving here is the rachni's."

"The one intelligent zerg that anyone's ever got their hands on, and you want to kill it?" Zaal'Koris sounded incredulous. "Have you been looking at the galaxy lately? Did you look at Valerian's report? Reapers and … _hybrids_ , waiting for the moment to bring ruin on the galaxy. I would feel much more comfortable about our chances if the zerg stood at our sides. Imagine a combined alliance between them and the protoss!"

"I see your idealism is greater than your propensity for suit wetting, Koris." Xen chuckled as Tali recoiled and Valerian's jaw dropped. "I would have expected you to side with me on the safer route. When has experimenting with zerg brought anyone anything but ruin?"

"When has experimenting with geth done anything but the same?" shot back Koris, stepping forward and presenting a shoulder, slashing a hand through the air. "Yet still you seek out your samples, your "cure all" for our ongoing geth "problem." In both cases I suggested diplomacy, Xen, not exploitation or extermination, as you and Gerrel seem so fixated upon!"

"Hey!" Tali's shout made them both turn. "Not in front of the terrans and asari. Fleet politics stay with the fleet. Remember what my father said."

"Agreed. Apologies, everyone." Koris sighed while Xen gave an irritated shrug and resumed staring down into the enclosure below. Valerian took the time to walk up to the window himself, looking down at the habitat they had constructed for Liara. On the left, it resembled nothing so much as a park, complete with healthy looking glass, a fountain, even a bench. On the right, the enclosure split into two cavernous sections, open roofed but still resembling some kind of underground. The further section's ground was thick with creep and the lights were turned off, leaving it mostly dark. Something large stirred within. _Abathur's place, I think._

The closer cavernous section, strangely enough, filled Valerian with warmth. The rachni queen sat peacefully beneath the bright spotlights, her smaller children shuffling all around her, turning over rocks or nestling at her side. Some had wandered into the grassy enclosure and apparently enjoyed rolling in the green, their tendrils tucked against their carapaces as they went. Liara, surprisingly, walked among them, occasionally reaching down and stroking their carapaces, sending them skidding across the ground with a biotic pulse (which they seemed to enjoy immensely, judging by how quickly they returned to her feet,) or even levitating one or two and bouncing them up and down. For a moment, it almost made Valerian forget shitting inside a leviathan, almost freezing to death while Liara deliberated killing him and Nova, and of course, the parasite in his neck. The warmth subsided, but did not fade entirely.

"Ailin? What do you think?" Aethyta, keeping the tone neutral. Valerian kept staring at the enclosure, focusing on the figure of the rachni queen. _She, at least, deserves a chance._

"The Umojan Council is split on the issue, although Minister Jorgensen insisted we at least remain open to the possibility of not exterminating the zerg out of hand." Valerian turned in time to see Grandfather frowning, obviously uncertain. He looked to Valerian. "Obviously, our interactions with Liara have been somewhat … skewed. We hold her in our power, rather than the other way around. Only one among us can claim what Liara is truly like, what she does to those in her power. What we have seen is scarcely reassuring."

"I have a parasite in my neck," said Valerian, staring all of them down. "An unremovable parasite. Doubtless Liara's listening down there. I wouldn't be surprised if her playing with those rachni is just a ploy to get me on her side."

"She was doing that well before your arrival," said Aethyta mildly. Valerian waved her off.

"It doesn't matter. What does she do to those under her thrall? Infest them, humiliate them, enslave them. I was a threat to be undermined and an asset to be exploited, both of which she did to the greatest of her ability. My rescue on Korhal afforded her asylum on Umoja. I am … struggling to think as to what she has done that is in any way praiseworthy."

"Spared your life," pointed out Tali. "On Kessel, without prompting. On Noveria, with prompting. Outright saved you on Korhal, which cost her the leviathan." Valerian stared incredulously at Tali. "Valerian, you would not be standing here without that woman. And considering how we're deliberating killing her in exactly the same way she deliberated killing you, what does it say if we decide to take the road she rejected?"

 _Oh. Ouch._ Valerian shut his eyes at that, almost taking a step back. _That … is a fair point. And on Kessel, at least, no one told her to save me. That was of her own accord, likely against her better judgment._

"That still leaves the horde of genocidal space bugs," said Xen, refusing to back down. "Keep the Queen of Ruins, fine. But what of the hordes of hydralisks we have in separate enclosures? What of the zerglings and overlords? Are they to be afforded the same reverence and protection?"

"Liara keeps them under control." Ailin folded his arms. "We are all familiar with their brutality and effectiveness. While I might object to the usage of a psi emitter under practically any circumstances, establishing a formal alliance with the zerg is something else entirely. It would afford us control and restraint where previously there was none. While I cannot claim to feel nearly as much compassion for those spiked monsters as I do the gentle rachni, they nevertheless deserve a chance in the galaxy if their darker urges can be suppressed."

"It affords the asari and elcor an opportunity as well." Aethyta stared down at the purple figure below, expression impossible to discern. "She could take command of the zerg there. Remove them from the planet. Fling them at the Reapers, when the time comes. The value of that cannot be understated."

"That's making the assumption the protoss will ever allow these zerg to live." Xen laughed. "Let's all admit that this cannot possibly ever happen … and if and when Liara reveals herself, the protoss will know we lied to them. Need I remind everyone that the bulk of our civilians remain on a protoss homeworld?"

"I hadn't forgotten." Koris stepped up to the glass, his bearing stiff. "I would never jeopardize those people, my people. If only … if only there were a means of speaking to Hierarch Artanis in a reasonable fashion about this. But I cannot see it. Tassadar died to destroy these creatures, and Liara would undo that sacrifice in his eyes. He would not rest until she is slain, and he would never forgive any of us."

"It's a bit more dangerous than keeping Valerian around, that is true." Grandfather frowned, holding his chin and staring down at the creatures below. "But … what is the DUAS, if not something of a bastion of democracy, peace, and mercy in this galaxy? It has won us freedom from the protoss so far. Are we going to buy a continued peace through the extermination of two species?"

 _I thought the DUAS was nothing more than a dressed up mutual defensive pact._ That was not strictly true, of course, but Valerian could not help but imagine what his father's reaction would have been to what his grandfather was saying. _Umoja bought most of its peace through relatively merciless covert actions. It was not their character that led to them being overlooked by the protoss, they just pick their fights with utmost care._

"Look – if nothing else, this could give us an edge over the UED." Zaal'Koris glanced to everyone present. "Rachni shock troops and leashed zerg forces would be an enormous equalizer against superior UED and appropriated Dominion and KMC numbers. If the protoss refuse to get involved or, ancestors forbid, they are taken out somehow, we will still have a means of striking back."

"A fair point." Xen nodded. "Yes, I suppose I could subscribe to that line of reasoning. If they are willing to throw their bodies at our enemies with reckless abandon, it would certainly help reduce troop casualties on our part."

"And what does the future leader of the Dominion think?" asked Aethyta, making Valerian flush slightly at being addressed in such a fashion. He stared down at the creatures below. Liara stared back, her eyes alive with psionic light, visible even so far up. _There's a parasite in the back of my neck, seeing everything that I see. The last few months of my life have been spent at the Queen of Ruins's mercy. And yet … I see zerg raining from the sky on Korhal. DuGalle skewered on the end of a rachni tendril. Liara sparing me on Kessel. And father took the throne with the aid of zerg … and asari, I suppose._

"Loosing these creatures on the UED would be fitting." Valerian turned away from the window. The prickling on the back of his neck subsided. "Provided they are properly controlled and only used if the protoss are no longer a concern … so long as they do not threaten any of our peoples … we need not blemish the characters of our nations through unnecessary genocide."

"An admirable sentiment." A voice, low and slightly accented, coming from a man who looked distinctly out of place among the other scientists, dark skinned, dressed in combat armor and wearing a red beret, looking oddly familiar. He smiled, revealing a mouth full of shining white teeth. "Councilor Pasteur; you were told to expect me. I am the representative for Cerberus." _Cerberus?_

"How did you get in here?" Grandfather's voice turned frantic, and Tali drew a pistol, aiming it squarely at the man's forehead. "A security breach. We may have a security bre-"

"I am a ghost, and renowned for my stealthiness at that." The ghost suppressed a yawn, barely paying attention to Tali's gun. "There is no need for alarm, Councilor. I am Samir Duran, and I assure you that I took some pains to get in here. My presence should be an endorsement of my ability, not any failings on the part of this facility."

"But how did you get in? How did you know we were here?" Grandfather pointed a trembling finger at Duran. "I was told I would be meeting you back at Umoja-"

"Events move at a pace that ill-affords such ponderousness." Duran smiled widely. "I can feel the Queen's presence, Councilor, even suppressed as it is by your Shadowguards. Fear not – I mean none of you any harm. And if the reverse is not true, than I suppose you must commit to a future in which the Directorate, protoss, and turians are all simultaneously notified of the zerg and rachni's presence here, along with a slew of other unforeseen consequences." Duran shrugged, smile disappearing. "That is not a bluff. Make a decision."

"You!" Valerian stepped forward, teeth bared. "I remember you! You were there when – when my father-"

"As I recall, I argued for your life, Valerian." Duran inclined his head. "I humbly request you do the same for me, now. And, as a further argument, I witnessed your liberation at the hands of Commander Shepard, who undid your restraints and bid you run. The medic in the damaged armor, remember?" _Yes … I do remember._ "I refrained from taking the shot. Now it is your turn."

"Is he a threat?" Tali asked the question with a half squeezed trigger, clearly ready to take the shot. "Give me the order."

"I know the man he works for, and I did know he was coming. Just … not here. Not now." Grandfather bid Tali lower her gun with a gesture of his arm, looking haggard as he stared at the ghost. "And I know Duran by reputation. A legend among the Shadowguards, for his ability to infiltrate. I suspect they will be adding to that legend now, discovering and entering this base so easily. They'll be scouring the ventilation shafts now, you know. Checking for your DNA."

"They will find nothing." Duran made a sharp waving motion with his hand. "I trust the shock is over? I wish to see this Queen of Ruins."

Valerian gestured to the window, stepping away from it sharply, unwilling to be anywhere close to Duran. Duran only chuckled.

"No, no. In person. Harper was specific, and I have some questions of my own."

"He sneaks in through unknown methods, threatens us with exposure if we do not comply, and now he is making demands?" Xen tutted. "Hmm. I trust none of you will be questioning _my_ judgment from this point onward?"

"Enough. Tali – escort him down below." Zaal'Koris glared at Duran, daring him to defy his order. "I suppose one of us should witness the interchange as well, to make it official. Any takers?"

"I would like to speak to her about a certain parasite," said Valerian through gritted teeth, his neck throbbing. "Send me down."

"Swinging a sword of guilt and mercy…" Grandfather looked sadly at Valerian. "If it brings you satisfaction, go ahead. And … did a UED medic truly try to save you?"

"Duran was there. He did not lie." _I had almost forgotten. Perhaps … perhaps I should be selective in my vengeance. Discriminatory. Committing treason for a stranger…_

Tali had lowered her gun but did not holster it. She pointed towards a door ahead of them, beyond the wide stretch of glass.

"I'm going to have a talk with the security chief about this," Grandfather warned, glaring at Duran. "Your employer as well. This is totally unacceptable. Were the situation not so dire…"

"Then I would have no need of expediting contact, and you would be well within your rights to execute me." A flicker of amusement passed through Duran's face, but he apparently saw fit not to smile. "I apologize for the scare. And please, do not punish any security staff. They are doing their jobs to the best of their ability."

Duran walked ahead of Tali, who kept her gun at her side but nevertheless still did not holster it. Valerian followed behind, staring at the back of a man who had watched his father die and done nothing. _There are many more like him through the galaxy. Did he scream "Gettysburg!" with the rest of them?_

"It is pleasing to see the quarian people adapting and recovering the wake of their tragedy." Duran, somehow sounding both friendly and insulting at the same time. Tali did not bother to look at him, taking a turn down the corridor and passing a pair of Umojan marines at the juncture, who stared in confusion at the ghost walking between Tali and Valerian. "Have you chosen a planet for resettlement as of yet?"

"Tarsonis; UED gave us clearance." Tali's words were blunt, and made Valerian start. "Thought we'd end up somewhere in Umojan space … didn't think we'd end up with one of the crown jewels of the Sector. Well, former crown jewels. Headed there with Xen after this to rendezvous with the Special Projects Fleet … and a small UED task force." Valerian opened his mouth but stopped quickly. _My father forbade resettlement, citing the large numbers of zerg. He was the one who brought them there. I am in no place to make snide remarks. The UED allowed this?_

"Seed the planet with life once again, Ms. Tali." Duran bowed his head as they stopped before a set of doors, a small elevator rising up from beneath them, just coming into view. "It will warm my heart to see the planet, and your people, restored."

"I … thank you." Tali didn't seem to know how to respond. Duran actually seemed genuine, from what Valerian could tell. The doors parted, and the three of them descended in awkward silence, Valerian silently pondering just what he would say to Liara.

The elevator arrived at a narrow corridor that terminated abruptly at the thickest bulkhead Valerian had ever seen, flanked by two marines and Shadowguards, who looked in no mood take shit from anyone. Nevertheless, Duran sauntered up to them and waited politely for them to open the door.

"There's automated defenses built into the floor and walls," said one Shadowguard on the right while the other punched in several codes on the door's keypad. "She gets uppity, she gets waxed, so don't worry about the door shutting behind you." He paused. "The beret … Samir Duran?"

"My legend grows." Duran inclined his head. "Fear not, sir. Mengsk is dead, and the UED is necessitating a shift in Cerberus's strategy. I pray we will work together soon enough."

"I don't. Lotta friends went missing around Moria because of you." The Shadowguard's tone became distinctly unfriendly, even though his expression was disguised by the mask. "Valerian, Ms. Tali, keep your eye on this one. The reports we get about him are ugly."

"One wrong move, Duran," whispered Tali, edging slightly closer to him. Duran did not react, only stepping backward as the massive doors parted with a faint grinding sound, revealing the greenery beyond. The fountain's water tinkled cheerfully from beyond the doors. Valerian stepped forward first, past Duran, confronting his tormentor of the past few months.

Liara stood about thirty feet beyond the door, arms folded, wings kept at her back, eyes flicking between Valerian and Duran. Tali crossed the threshold last, the doors grinding shut behind her. Small rachni played at Liara's feet, occasionally nudging her shin with their heads. She send them flying harmlessly across the grass to her left, prompting a series of cheerful shrieks and snatches of what might have been song.

"So," said Liara, voice echoing within itself, carrying easily over the distance. "Here we are."

"You have a lot to answer for, Liara." Valerian's face contorted, his neck burning. He walked forward without fear, only cold anger burning in his heart. "Because of you, I lost a finger. I went missing at a time the Dominion needed me. And you implanted a fucking parasite in my neck!"

"You live because of me." Liara said it so simply. "I could have killed you or let you die numerous times. Yet here you stand. Here we are." She cast her eyes down. "For what it is worth, I do regret implanting you with the parasite. I know the question burns in your heart: can I remove it? I cannot. It was not made for removing. I am sorry."

Valerian shut his eyes and balled his fists. _I want to scream. To punch this woman, even though it would have no effect. To see her reduced to what I am, a sovereign without a throne, ruined and … and…_

"I see so much of myself in you," said Liara softly, stepping closer to Valerian. "An archaeologist born to a famous parent. Taken away by forces beyond our control or comprehension while on a dig, doing what we love. Trying to live up to and yet divorce ourselves from the legacy of those parents. Befouled, permanently, by the zerg." Liara stood but a few feet away from Valerian, tears in her eyes. "I am sorry that I could not be stronger. That I put you through the same ordeal as myself, both knowingly and unknowingly. I have no excuse beyond panic over my own survival. I should have searched harder for alternatives."

Valerian stared at the woman who had brought him so much pain – and this was the first time he thought of her truly as a woman, a person, rather than a beast, mutant, or force of nature. Twisted and monstrous she was, but not by choice. Never by choice.

Valerian opened his mouth and shut it. He couldn't find the words or the will to forgive Liara, but the possibility no longer looked so … remote. The sensation at the back of his neck faded. His finger stump twitched.

"The DUAS is sparing you and the rachni at great risk to themselves," was all he said, stepping back, tears in his own eyes. "Please prove yourself worth it."

"And to that end…" Duran stepped forward, unsmiling, doffing his hat and bowing low before Liara. "Samir Duran, with Cerberus. I do not know if you are familiar with us, but all you need know is that they have played a key role in overthrowing both the Confederacy and Mengsk. Now it is the UED's turn, assuming they prove too belligerent for their own good."

"You feel familiar," murmured Liara, staring at Duran in what might have been disgust. "Your voice … have we met before?"

"I am sure I would remember it, o Queen of Ruins." Duran planted his beret back on his head. "You are the new leader of the zerg? The Overmind is truly dead?"

"The Overmind and all Its Cerebrates. I watched the last one die myself." Liara's hands shook slightly. "If there are others who might control the zerg, I am unaware of them."

"And rachni, too…" said Duran, musing at the small creatures that watched them from the false cavern entrance, chirping. "This is interesting. The queen – does she act in lieu of a Cerebrate, delegating control? Could the twin Swarms be reborn through a combination of rachni stewardship and zerg adaptability?"

"They refuse to be infested, but their minds are amenable to the Swarm." Liara stared back at the entrance. The rachni queen lumbered out, larger than the last time Valerian saw her. She trilled at the sight of him, making him feel bizarrely pleased with himself. "She is eternally grateful to you, Valerian."

"I am … happy to hear that." Valerian swiveled his head as Tali passed him, holstering her gun, arm outstretched for the queen. She lowered her head, staring carefully at the quarian, before nosing forward and tacitly inviting Tali to touch her. The quarian ran a gloved hand across the queen's head, prompting a low noise and a swarm of smaller rachni to gather at Tali's feet.

"She is far friendlier than I am. Far more trusting. I expect exposure to the Reapers will change that." Liara grimaced. "Further exposure, I mean. The original war might not have been the rachni's true will." She turned to Duran. "What now, then?"

"You are unexpected." Duran said that in a different tone of voice than before, looking deeply conflicted. "The zerg were done for, and yet here you stand. A backdoor. Another opportunity for the zerg to do good, by throwing themselves against their intended enemy, the Reapers…"

"Finally, people have gotten around to taking them seriously." Liara smiled shyly, still squinting at Duran as if half-remembering something. "Is that what your employer wants? To make sure I live, that I might contribute what's left of the Swarm against those bastards?"

"It is what _I_ want. I cannot speak for him." Duran rubbed his chin. "Hmm. I will confer with the ladies and gentlemen upstairs about arranging an audience. I believe the so-called "Illusive Man" is planning to relocate to Umojan space, so it may even be in person. As for me…" Duran's face contorted strangely, as if conflicted. "I … am impressed. Alarmed, but impressed. The zerg died, and yet now they live. The rachni as well. Bound together. An impressive … hybrid." The way Duran said that made Valerian turn his head. Liara's eyes narrowed.

"I am certain I have met you before."

"When were you infested? Before or after the Great War? Because I met no asari before the war's end." Duran grimaced. "Forgive me, Liara, but I have some matters to attend to and must depart. Until we meet again. Excuse me."

"I think I am done here as well." Valerian touched his forehead. "…my lady. You have been treated well?"

"I miss my leviathan." Liara laughed, but there was a sadness to it. "I never thought I would say that, but I am sad she is dead. I am well content, Valerian. Anxious to be of use to the cause, at long last, and the tests are nothing strenuous. Please take care."

"And you?" Valerian directed the second question to the queen, who simply increased her purring sounds in volume as Tali finished up, reaching down for a few of the children before returning, humming to herself. "I suppose you're doing okay."

The doors ground open behind them. Valerian took one last look at the two queens before retreating, the first to enter the enclosure and the last to leave. The doors closed ponderously behind them.

"I'm going to feel guilty blowing zerg away on Tarsonis now," said Tali with a small laugh. "Well, I'm sold on the rachni at least. Still not sure about the queen … or Duran."

"You have nothing to fear, Tali'Zorah." Duran stared alternately at the elevator and at his hands. "I will send word to Harper to come here. This cannot be left unmonitored, and I cannot be in more than one place at once." Duran glanced back at the door, as if alarmed. "Ah! How could anyone anticipate this? How did you come to meet her, Valerian?"

"Archaeological dig. There was a temple," said Valerian slowly. "And … a thing. Like a protoss, but large and twisted. It spoke to us, killed my team … only to be struck down by Liara." Valerian shivered, remembering the way the marine had screamed in the temple corridors behind him.

"I see." Duran balled his fists, breathing heavily. "Yes. Yes, I think this place has just become … absolutely … critical."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: David**

 **A/N: Churning these out pretty quickly. Let me know if there's been a drop in quality. We're over halfway done with this, as well as the series proper.**


	43. Beautiful Tuchanka

**David**

David used to think that the colonials's siege tanks were comically large. Since his introduction to the krogan's tomkah, however, he now realized that there were far more ridiculous vehicle designs out there in the galaxy.

The tomkah shifted and shuddered as it made its journey, bouncing its occupants to varying degrees based on their weight. Wrex and Grunt barely moved at all as the oversized vehicle made its drunken tour through the smoking rubbish radioactive heap of the krogan homeworld, weighed down as they were by their heavy armor and natural body weight. Wrex seemed deep in thought, turning to look at Grunt, Shepard, and David himself with a single red eye before looking away when anyone noticed. The rest of the team was scarcely any more comfortable or talkative.

Except, naturally, for Jenkins.

"Hey, lieutenant. LT!" Kaidan looked up at Jenkins, who was practically bouncing in his seat. "You know, we haven't seen any krogan women," he said in a hushed tone, glancing over to the two krogan at the opposite end of the tank (David refused to acknowledge it as the infantry fighting vehicle Wrex claimed it was.) "What do you think they look like?"

"Like krogan men?" Kaidan cocked an eyebrow at Jenkins, glancing at Wrex and Grunt as well, clearly ill at ease. _Do I squash this conversation now, or later?_

"Oh come on. Maybe they hide 'em out in secondary camps to keep 'em away from alien men!" Jenkins wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe they look like asari! Maybe … maybe they are asari?"

"Wrex," called out David, making Jenkins and Alenko both jump. "The lads are wondering what krogan women are like. Care to enlighten them?"

Wrex snorted. "Big and angry." He glared at Jenkins. "They'd break you over their knee, boy. Don't get any ideas."

David rolled his eyes as Jenkins sputtered, red-faced. He winked at Alenko, who nodded gratefully in return. _Not a conversation he was particularly happy to be a part of, I'm sure._ The tomkah continued on its merry way, its occupants silently contemplating the fate ahead of them. David himself stared at the hastily attached flamethrower on his wrist, his armored hands clenching and unclenching, staring at what Alenko assured him would be a "krogan cooker." _It bloody well better be. The viscerators at Okeer's lab were tough enough to put down, and they weren't even biotic._

David blew out a long stream of air, trying to calm his unsteady nerves. _Got a practical fleet of engineers of scientists waiting for the word to set down here, to do the work of humanity and restore these monsters. And they're all depending on me and mine, surviving an alien death rite that has, of late, been even less pleasant than usual …_ He glanced up at Grunt and Shepard, seated across from one another. Shepard appeared to have dozed off, her head lulling against the side of her helmet. _Well, if she's confident enough to take a nap, I guess that's reassuring. Of my squad, she's the one I'd want to do this with … we'll be okay. How many infested krogan can there be?_

 _I am never saying that sentence aloud. Or thinking that again._

"Slowing down," murmured Wrex, shifting forward and resting his massive arms against his equally enormous knees. "Wake the commander up."

"Shepard!" barked Grunt, reaching forward and pawing at Shepard's armored leg. "Shepard!"

"Wrex? Grunt?" Shepard yawned and sat up. "We there yet?"

"Closing." Wrex stared at the doors for a moment before tossing his head and glaring at Shepard with a single red eye. "This is an ordeal even for krogan. Aliens have rarely participated in the Rite. Are you prepared for a struggle?"

"Life's a struggle." Shepard shrugged, and then began checking her own flamethrower mounted on her wrist. _I know she became a medic to explicitly avoid killing people, but these viscerators apparently do_ _not qualify._ "Grunt, are you ready?"

"The tank did not prepare me for this. Nor did Okeer." Grunt ground his teeth before uttering a harsh bark of laughter. "But you did. Wrex did. Korhal did. I have been offered mightier foes than this in the past, and now they lie broken. My only fear is that we will run out of enemies too quickly!"

"Fear has some place in the Rite," warned Wrex, turning in his seat towards Grunt. "Be cautious. Bloodrage and overconfidence won me many wounds on Korhal."

Shepard jerked her head towards David. "Boss is packing medigel if I run out of nanosutures, but you really don't want me to run out of nanosutures. If I see you taking any unnecessary risks, Grunt, we're going to have a little chat after the Rite's done."

"Another chat?" Grunt shrunk back in his seat, making David wonder just what Shepard's "parenting" looked like behind the scenes. "Eh, I'll be careful."

The tomkah came to a slow halt, the chugging engine becoming the only sound within hearing. When it halted, a howling wind replaced it. The back of the vehicle opened up, leading Wrex to shrug his way out, the others following shortly afterward. An endless vista of dreary wreckage greeted them, a sea of dusty rubble as far as the eye could see, broken by only the occasional moldering foundation of some long destroyed building.

Two other tomkahs ran adjacent to either side of their own, krogan disembarking from each. The Urdnot shaman shook his head vigorously as he stepped out into the rubble, as if suddenly besieged by unwelcome thoughts or evil spirits. While the krogan in power armor fanned out and established a perimeter, he ambled towards the small crowd of UED personnel with a faint gleam in his crimson eyes.

"Can you see it?" The shaman pointed in the distance, towards a large stone obelisk that jutted from the ground and stretched high into the murky skies, one of the few structures that looked even remotely intact. "For centuries this Keystone has been the focal point of Clan Urdnot Rites, instructing our young on our history, and the nature of struggle." The shaman gave an angry snort. "The infested pollute this holy site with their stink, and slay any who dare touch the Keystone."

The shaman pointed now to the right of the Keystone, to an oddly colored patch of yellowed rubble. "Remnants of the photon cannons the protoss are so fond of. All torn apart within the space of days. Nothing can withstand the onslaught of these so-called viscerators for long." The shaman looked to Wrex, anger in his eyes. "It is why I do not appreciate your returning of Okeer to his homeland. Haven't we suffered enough through his madness?"

"If he cures the Genophage, will you still complain?" Wrex stomped forward, taking a good long look at the ruins before him. "Hmm. I spoke to Taldarin. He intends to observe the battle and locate the source of the infestation. He will not interfere with the Rite, but once you have either fallen or the time has elapsed, the protoss will take to the field."

"And how much time is this going to take?" asked David, pulling his weapon free from his back, taking a deep and steady breath as he gazed on to the hellscape beyond.

"You must survive for one hour." The shaman stared at David and Shepard, as if unsure what exactly to say to these interlopers that would be protecting one of his fellow krogan. "I do not know what tools you terrans bring with you, but I pray they will make up for your otherwise laughable fragility. Grunt speaks highly of you, but he is young. Wrex speaks highly of you, but he has been away for so long he may have forgotten the harshness of Tuchanka. If you survive … perhaps I will see your species differently."

"We're not your bog standard colonials," replied David, staring levelly into the krogan's bright red eye as it flicked up and down, examining him closely. "The fury of Earth goes with us. Admiral Stukov has ordered us to bring him a krogan alliance, and that is exactly what he shall have. We did not come all the way out here to fail."

"We shall see." The shaman parted from the group, stepping back from Grunt and his surrounding humans. David took a deep breath and clapped a hand on Alenko's shoulder, making him turn with an inquisitive expression on his face.

"You're in command, now. Keep an eye on Jenkins and keep Joker informed on what's going on. And don't lose any more fingers." David glanced to Williams. "Behave. No matter what happens to us out there, you cannot interfere. There are other avenues to get the krogan on our side, and none of them involve interrupting their cultural rites."

Williams snapped a salute, but did not make eye contact. "Yes, sir!" _Unhappy at the order. Wouldn't expect anything less, though._ David rounded on Jenkins, who had already followed Williams's suit, his hand practically quivering before his forehead.

"Jenkins, keep your head down and don't do anything stupid. We'll be back before you know it. I know you won't embarrass us."

"When have I ever embarrassed you, sir?" _Oh, don't get me started._

David glanced to Wrex and Grunt, who parted after a short head bump between the two of them, and to Shepard, who was retreating from a brief embrace with Williams, dwarfing the Gunnery Chief in her enormous medic armor. She flashed a thumbs up at David before joining Grunt, hefting her shield and looking just as durable and fight happy as the krogan, if anything.

A shadow fell over David, making him glance up. Wrex leered down at him, his bulk only enhanced by his own set of dark red power armor. For a few seconds they simply stared at one another, man and krogan, uncertain of just how they had come to this juncture.

"Try not to die," said Wrex simply, turning away before David could respond. Calls went up from the other krogan surrounding the tomkahs, each of them pointing towards the grim horizon. _Right. Time to go play in a bad neighborhood._

With a final wave back to his comrades, David followed the unafraid commander and chuckling krogan, their footfalls leaving heavy imprints on the Tuchanka soil as they descended from the broken stretch of highway the tomkahs had parked themselves at, taking care to avoid placing their feet on any stretch of rubble or loose debris.

The earth seemed at once soft and foul, sucking at the boots of their power armor as if the earth itself wanted to swallow them. Fused glass and what might have been some kind of plastic equivalent regularly crunched beneath them wherever the soil gave way to krogan-made ruin. The Keystone loomed before them, practically the only landmark they had to go by. The only sound aside from the harsh Tuchanka wind was the sound of their own labored breathing as they made their ponderous journey. _Feel like I'm wading through a sea of garbage, here. Can't believe the krogans did this to themselves, to their entire planet. Is rejuvenating them going to bring this to other worlds?_

Such thoughts were borderline treasonous, of course. Yet David did not shake them away. _DuGalle is dead. So is Mengsk. So is Valerian, most likely. The main objective was accomplished – we should be thinking about going home, even if the protoss have made it clear that it would be a bad idea at present. Yet Stukov is not only committing an entire sector to a war footing, he's preparing to bring in aliens. And not just any aliens. Take a long look at their homeworld …_ David licked his lips beneath his helmet, the doubts roiling within his mind.

The ground finally gave way to roughly even concrete, or at least something resembling concrete, and the Keystone stood not fifty feet away, albeit atop of a truly massive pile of ash-covered rubble. Grunt grunted, pointing towards a small heap of metal topped by a heavy rock at the foot of a lengthy piece of metal pipe. With a jolt, David realized that it was actually a cairn.

Without hesitation, Grunt charged up the pipe, which just barely fit the bulky frame of his armor. His echoing calls back to David and Shepard confirmed that they were not imagining anything, and that the pipe led to a steep but cleared path up to what would either be a fight to remember or their unmarked graves. David jerked his head towards the pipe, letting Shepard proceed before him. He took one long, lingering glance at the wreckage behind him, his eyes narrowing in search of any potential movement or sign of zerg creep. _Nothing. But then, beyond the bodies, there wasn't much on Korlus beforehand either, was there?_

"Think we're being watched?" asked David as he emerged at the other end of the pipe, blinking up at the small yet undeniable path that led up to the Keystone, a tunnel through the otherwise insurmountable debris.

Grunt only gave a harsh bark of laughter in response, apparently enjoying David's uncertainty. Shepard gave David another reassuring thumbs up while glancing back down the pipe he had emerged from. "I haven't seen anything, sir. I'm sure that's about to change, though."

"Yeah." David stared down the pipe himself for a moment, wondering if anyone would be following them through. _If we had Alenko with us, I'd tell him to plant a turret here, assuming we couldn't find any other entrances to the Keystone. Not sure the krogan would find that "sporting," though._

David's legs ached slightly with the climb up, the surly bonds of gravity constantly pulling him backward and threatening to send him rolling back down the hill with the slightest misstep. Even Grunt groaned in mild discomfort at the steepness of the hill, his head bowed as he tried to keep his weight angled forward, twice nearly falling on his face and stopping himself only with a single outstretched arm.

Shepard had scarcely a better time of it, muttering to herself constantly on the way up, her shield now resting on her back while she practically ascended the hill on all fours. _If we're having this much trouble just navigating the damn planet, I can't imagine we're going to have an easy time with the beasties._

Grunt gave a ragged cheer as he cleared the edge of the hill, pulling himself over and out of sight, now standing in their prospective arena. Shepard followed shortly afterward, wobbling slightly as the sheer size of her armor made it difficult to make the final few steps. She yelled encouragement back down at David as he ascended, legs burning even with the assistance his suit granted, not relishing the prospect of heavy combat after an already unpleasant slog.

Shepard helped pull him the rest of the way, her suit making him seem almost weightless in those final few steps. He stood there, blinking, facing their would be arena. _Hmm._

Up close, the Keystone looked far less impressive, the cracks in its stone surface all too apparent. It looked far more like some kind of barbaric totem than the relic of a much grander era that the shaman had implied, and the endless desolation that surrounded the Keystone in every direction only further belied any potential awe David might have felt.

The arena did not offer much cover. Two ancient stone pillars rose at the far southern end of the plateau they stood upon, offering only protection from any foes that might shoot at them from outside the arena itself. From where David was standing, a ramp led up to the Keystone itself, which stood upon a raised area of the plateau. A small haggard looking railing separated the lower section from the upper, several sections of it missing. _And … that's about it for things to hide behind. Now I'm almost hoping the viscerators just try and charge in. An extended firefight would almost certainly favor them._

"I'm thinking you should have brought Lieutenant Alenko, Grunt." David set his rifle upwards against his shoulder, glancing at the krogan with a furrowed brow. "He might have been able to provide some better area suppression. Maybe brought some mines … staring to wonder why I didn't bring mines."

"Then we would have had to cut down on flamethrower fuel and bandages." Shepard pulled her shield free and readied it, her visor sliding up so she could make eye contact with Grunt. "He said to hit the Keystone, right? That green button?"

"Yeah!" Grunt's head swiveled back and forth, taking in his surroundings with what David thought was unwarranted enthusiasm. "Hehehe. Better than I expected. We ready?"

"Setting up a firing line." David hurried up the ramp and kneeled before an intact section of railing, laying the barrel of his gun atop of it and checking his sights. From the top of the plateau, the endless wastes of Tuchanka stretched before him. On the right, previously unnoticed, a further upraised section of concrete revealed another section of broken highway, which twisted out of view. _Might come from above as well. Great._ Something heavy thumped the earth behind him. He didn't have to turn to know it was Shepard, nanosutures at the ready, her heavy shield blocking most of her body from harm.

With a clunk, David heard Grunt slam his fist against the flashing green button that sat at the foot of the "mighty" Keystone. With a groan, the Keystone shivered. David craned his head backwards in time to see the obelisk rise into the air, dust and ash shaken free in the wake of its sudden motion. Static erupted from some hidden speaker, the words garbled and indecipherable. David watched with narrowed eyes as the obelisk raised higher and higher, reminding him of a handful of horrible amusement park rides he had tried to enjoy on the perpetually rainy days in England. The same bubbling cauldron of mixed fear and anticipation went with it.

"Dinner … time…" croaked the speaker, the words deep and yet somehow hissing, making David snap his attention back to the sights of his gun. The groaning of the Keystone ceased with a suddenness that David did not appreciate. _And here comes the plunge … here come the screams._

The Keystone slammed the earth with a deafening finality, a deep bass note sounding in the wake of its precipitous fall. David closed his eyes momentarily as Grunt only laughed again at the imminent violence, never before wishing so fervently that he were on the road home.

The Keystone quieted, but a hush did not descend. Instead, David heard distant thunderous laughter and growls, rapidly becoming louder. _Here we go._

The first viscerator careened around the stretch of highway on the right. Standing taller than any krogan that David had seen so far, it skidded to a halt as it caught sight of its prospective pray, its eyes not the livid red or cold blue of a normal krogan's, but rather a blazing yellow. David snapped off three quick rounds at the creature's skull. The first made the barriers flare as the creature cleared another foot in David's direction, the other two breaking through and plowing through the crest and head plate, splattering the surrounding ruined concrete with dark blood. The beast shook its smoking head as it still charged, the incendiary rounds cooking its primary brain but failing to drive it back.

Grunt laughed and vaulted over the railing as David tracked the astonishing pace of the creature, adjusting his sights and letting his suit guide the exact placement of the battle rifle's rounds. The footsteps thudded closer while Grunt made to intercept. _There._ Three more precise shots downrange, one slightly off, slamming into the abomination's shoulder and turning it sideways while the other two plugged it in each brain. When Grunt collided with the creature, it was out of the sheer momentum of the corpse rather than any infernal intelligence still guiding it. The krogan stared down at his foe in disappointment, but Shepard was already pointing at the next targets, yelling.

Two more infested krogan mantled the lip of the plateau to their left, the mandibles about their faces parting as they emitted impossibly high-pitched screams, making Grunt turn his head. David grimaced as the ground before them flashed, his mask protecting from the bulk of Shepard's flashbang's light. His suit hummed a note of optimization, and he fired three times again at the closer krogan, who staggered forward with claws over his eyes. The first round shaved off most of his splayed fingers across his face and instantly cauterized the stumps, while the other two shattered plate and exposed brain.

Grunt, laughing madly, collided with the wounded viscerator full force, his bayonetted shotgun aimed firmly for the creature's exposed nervous system. With a crunch, krogan clone met krogan zerg in a haze of confused genetics, with the victor pulling his massive blade free from his victim's forehead, its glistening surface dripping with crimson fluid.

The second viscerator flailed about with heavy limbs, its eyes blinded and ears likely ringing, but nevertheless possessed enough to know that Grunt would be nearby. Grunt, laughing again, simply pointed his heavy shotgun at the creature's bulk and slam fired it, once, twice, thrice, four times, breaking barrier, severing limb, and exposing organs. The viscerator collapsed in a pool of noxious gore, twitching. Grunt planted a heavy boot on its chest and levelled the barrel with the creature's jaw. David could not help but whistle at the distance the viscerator's head flew. _Doing okay, but … an hour of this?_

David shifted his gun atop the railing just in time to see another three viscerators drop from the broken bit of highway. With a weary sigh and an internal note to reload, David swapped to the secondary trigger and fired, the lower barrel glowing as the grenade arced towards its cackling targets.

The screams of fury turned to screams of pain as the firestorm engulfed the beasts. David unloaded the rest of his magazine with a clinical precision, his marksmanship an impressive performance, the clinking of the casings a polite applause. He ejected the magazine and tossed it aside, pulling a fresh one free and inserting it with a satisfying click, ramming the bolt back with a reassuring strength. The under mounted launcher followed, its reloading punctuated by Shepard announcing additional targets on the far right, emerging from the pipe and climbing up from below.

David stood to acquire a better angle, heart pounding as his suit struggled to let him see beyond the still dying flames, the smoking bodies of the viscerators. Shepard stepped forward, barely visible in his peripherals, a gout of flame erupting from an outstretched arm. David sucked in a sharp breath and unloaded two rounds, a pair of sharp claps that temporarily broke the cacophony of laughing, sneering, and sizzling infested krogan.

"Shepard!" Grunt called out. Shepard took one look away from where her wrists were pointed and ceased the onslaught of flame, the blossom of orange dying as she lunged over the railing to assist her charge. David did not turn to assist, instead finishing with her original charred targets, placing one careful round under the chin of the closest, three drilled into the back of another's neck. Only then, as the infested bastards fell, jerking and twitching, did he swivel his rifle and stare into the mess of limbs and hate below.

Grunt laid into his foes with shotgun and mounted blade, his heavy body cutting a swathe of open space with elbow, boot, and bayonet. Three glistening slashes were rent into his armored chest, and another cut bled freely from his face. Flame leapt from Grunt's shotgun, the incendiary rounds generously lending to the chaos. Shepard, screaming incoherently, slammed fist and shield alike into the cackling viscerators, the superior bulk of her armor and the weight of her equipment knocking viscerators back. She, too, was generous with her fire, and viscerators twisted away from her as their barriers cooked and their limbs were set aflame.

David sighed and kneeled again at the railing, thankful that at least the melee was directed away from him. He rested the barrel against the railing, only to feel the ground shake under him. Confused, he looked down just in time for a plated claw to grab his ankle and _pull_. The ground came rushing up and he yelled, his rifle falling free from his grip. A grinning face pushed through the concrete, filled with teeth and far too wide, its eyes glowing with a brightness that betrayed far too much intelligence and malevolence for David's liking.

The viscerator's other arm pulled free of the earth, which the creature broke through as if it were made of tissue rather than concrete. It pulled David closer, his armored boot sliding towards the gaping maw. David shut his eyes and pointed his wrist, aware that this was about to hurt like hell. _I've got medigel. Do they come with painkillers? I can't fucking remember!_

David screamed as the flamethrower activated, making the creature scream and twist within its little burrow while also causing David's left leg to blaze with intense heat and pain, the flesh cooking and wriggling, trying to pull free of the heated metal prison it found itself in. The grip loosened, barely noticeable amidst the agony, and David opened his eyes and snapped off the flamethrower with a muffled gasp, his eyes glancing across the suit's inner screen in a desperate effort to get the medigel automatically deployed.

Sweet relief spread over David's leg, a cooling sensation that let him regain some semblance of control over the pain and panic. _It actually works, thank the human spirit. Thank human ingenuity._ He pulled himself up with a groan, all too aware of how vulnerable he was at that moment. He limped to his rifle and retrieved it, looking down from his balcony to be greeted with a vista of absurd carnage.

Shepard and Grunt, marked with a dozen rents and wounds on their suits each, only hastily patched up by nanosutures, clawing their way through a field of corpses. Viscerators leapt at them over their fallen brethren, clawed up from beneath the ground, and screamed and collapsed in burning heaps as they met their match. David's heart caught in his throat at the sight of two angels of death making their deadly rounds, Shepard's white armor slowly turning into a mix of black and red as the fire and the wounds built up, and Grunt already covered in gore from head to toe, his bayonet snapped off and likely buried in some poor bastard's brain.

David sighed and leveled his gun, his heart steadying as the pain faded. His gun shuddered in his hands, the stock braced neatly against his armored shoulder. One screaming lunatic's barriers broke, some of the round making it through and almost knocking him over. Two more rounds left him bleeding and burning on the floor, nervous system rebooting. Another finished the job.

For how long David knelt there, firing, breathing, and reloading, he could not say. The viscerators seemed to take a strange delight in meeting foes so destructive, in a krogan whose strength and krannt alike withstood so much punishment. They demonstrated no fear in the face of flame, fist, and firepower, their laughter only broken by the sharp claps of David's rifle, of the deep booms of Grunt's shotgun.

And yet, at some point, the tide of creatures stopped. David gasped and almost fell as he suddenly found himself without targets, finding that he had been holding his breath without even realizing it. Grunt's laughter faded into a low and somehow eerie cackle while Shepard staggered amidst the field of bodies, shield raised up in triumph. Her armor had gaps in about sixteen different places and it was tough to tell how much of the blood on her armor actually belonged to her foes, but still she stood.

"Not even close," cackled Grunt, before checking his omnitool. "Not even close! Another twenty-five minutes to go! Is this it? Are these pitiful beasts truly repulsing the youth of Clan Urdnot? Perhaps I should have chosen a different clan."

"You would have died three or four times over without a UED medic, Grunt," said Shepard, breathless. "You think the other krogan could laugh off nearly having their eye torn out?"

Grunt only shrugged, leaving David to get a good look at the horrible red lines raked across his face, crossing over his right eye. The two of them stared up at David, who couldn't muster energy for words, simply looking down at them with his rifle at his side.

"Alright up there?" Shepard offered a timid and questioning thumbs up, which David returned, leg shaking slightly. "Did one sneak up on you?"

"Came from the ground." David coughed, wincing as he sprayed the inside of his mask with spit. "Looks like we might-"

The ground quaked, making David almost buckle on his still unsteady leg. Grunt turned on a heel, gun wheeling about, confused as to what was going on. David checked each body-strewn ledge, his own feet, the burnt up hole behind him. The ground shook again, and David turned slowly to face the expanse of wastes beyond the plateau.

The ground deformed and bulged from beneath the rubble. David stared in mixed fear and resignation as a deep if muffled roar came from the ruined earth, changing out his mag while the rock below cracked and churned. _Oh, I think we've got a big beastie on our hands._

The earth burst violently, chunks of concrete and strips of metal sent flying. A massive head tore itself free from the confines of the wreckage, tendrils parting from the face, a glowing purple tongue falling free from the mouth. Two lengthy talons extended from either side of its trunk below the head, sharp and longer than the tomkahs they had rode in earlier. Thick purple carapace coated its surface, and when the creature screamed at them, its mouth opening and tendrils parting, revealing a tubelike mouth filled with inward pointing hooks.

"Thresher Maw!" called out Grunt.

"Nydus worm!" shouted Shepard almost simultaneously.

"Both." David stared down his scope, hopes plummeting as he caught a glimpse of the creature's ridged back; there, attached by hook and by rope, a great crush of viscerators hooted and jeered with harsh voices, some of them brandishing weapons. _Is this real? Is this real life? Fuck Tuchanka. And fuck Okeer._

The Maw screeched again, its head jerking this way and that, pulled by barely visible strings and hooks embedded in the soft flesh between the segments. It dived beneath the earth, creating a shifting mess of roiling earth as it tunneled towards them.

"Move!"

David sprinted to the edge of the plateau, preparing to drop if need be. Grunt and Shepard were nowhere to be seen, likely on the other edge and on the lower level. With a deafening crack, the plateau split in half at the subterranean passage of the massive beast, the Keystone tilting and then toppling with a mighty crash, the Keystone bellowing, "We have conquered the Genophage…" in a distorted voice as it finally collapsed.

David readied his rifle again as the creature's head erupted from where the Keystone had stood, the yells of its riding viscerators now audible. David zeroed in on the riders and fired, one round pinging harmlessly off the creature's carapace, while another knocked a viscerator free, letting sweet gravity deliver the killing blow.

"Armor's too thick for my guns!" shouted Grunt over David's radio, voice both exhilarated and somewhat terrified. "Captain, try a grenade!"

David shifted his attention from the jeering riders, grunting as a lucky round punched through his side. The grenade arced high into the air just as the Maw lowered its head and gurgled ominously. The grenade took it in the neck, making it screech and shake, losing its focus momentarily and shaking a handful of viscerators free from its back. Yet when the smoke cleared, only a faint smudge marked where the grenade had made contact with the Maw's carapace.

"Armor's too thick; are we really supposed to survive this?" David pulled his rifle up again just in time to see a flash of blue. Aqua blossomed in his sights as something kicked him in the chest with the force of a mule, sending him teetering on the edge of the plateau, arms waving … and then sending him down, rifle falling free from his grip, arms scrabbling against the edge. He did not fall far, sliding fast instead against coarse stone. Shepard cried out his name, but David's descent was already slowing.

"Fucking biotics," he spat as he came to a halt, his armor registering minor damage to his back plating from the extensive friction. "Can we get the protoss on this? This is ridiculous!"

"No, we can take him!" Grunt laughed, making David internally curse Okeer again. High above, the Maw head faced David's direction and coughed, something propelled from its mouth. "Meet you down there, Captain! I've got a plan!" You _have a plan?_

Something heavy hit the ground behind David, making him spin with all the speed he could muster. A viscerator charged from the still rising dust, hand glowing blue with biotic energies. David ducked beneath the blazing fist and rolled past the bastard, gasping as the viscerator's fist met the slab of stone behind him with a deafening boom. He turned about, pistol clearing his holster, firing at the hulking mass of carapace and flesh. The krogan only pounded his chest and glowed blue, his visage distorting as energies formed about his body. David's rounds had all the effect of a spitball.

David swore and cast his gun aside. The viscerator lowered its mighty head and charged. David, tired, scared, and increasingly becoming angry beyond belief, gave his suit an order he had vowed never to use again since reaching the age of thirty. He felt a pinch at his neck, and then … colors sharpened. The charging krogan bastard seemed to slow. His heart slowed and then overclocked, thundering harder than the collapsing structures around him.

David lifted a wrist and sent a spray of fire at his foe, leaping aside at the last second. An outstretched claw raked across his chest and sent up a blaze of pain and suit warnings, but he didn't care. The pain went ignored. The viscerator, barriers shattered, stifled the remaining flames on his arms and chest with heavy hands, its eyes full of promise. David charged, armored fists swinging. He relished the brief widening of the creature's eyes.

His metal gauntlet caught the krogan full in the face, staggering it from the force of the blow. His second blow was a hook, catching it in the relatively unarmored chin and knocking a few teeth free. The creature bellowed in confusion and rage as David struck it again and again, dizzying blows enhanced by metal and by piston, keeping it off balance even as it failed to do any long-lasting damage.

Panting, David struck the viscerator full force in the face, almost flooring it and giving himself enough time to rip his knife free. He pounced on the sprawling viscerator as it tried to right itself, the weight of his armor and the force of his fall pinning the creature and allowing him to raise his blade high.

With a scream, he jammed the blade behind the viscerator's crest and jerked it backward, creating a truly horrid noise of ripping flesh and spurting blood. The viscerator bellowed again and knocked David aside, the knife still lodged in its head. David rolled backwards and brought himself to his feet, lifting his wrist again. The viscerator stood and tore the knife free with a growl, making David laugh to himself as the wound only bled more violently, and the creature staggered from the shock. _This will stop the bleeding._

The flamethrower belched death again, the fire surrounding the viscerator's head and creeping directly into his brain. The creature screamed in rage and disbelief as it clawed at its now cauterized wound, its hands blazing blue as it attempted to erect a barrier, or push David, or do something. All to no avail. David watched the creature collapse in slow motion, a grin on his face even as the pain returned and made his hand creep up to his chest and then slip down to his side, the blood running through his fingers. _Shit. Need Shepard._

The Maw no longer watched from above, but from the shaking David guessed it was still very present. He could not find his rifle and suspected it would likely be damaged from the fall anyway, instead calling out for his companions and trying to ping them. _Not too far. Not too far._

Descending the hill of rubbish proved easier than climbing it, even as his legs and hands shook and every step seemed dangerously precarious. He followed the gunshots and his minimap, only taking his eyes off his own bloodied feet to glance at them. The stims still rushed through his system, but now fear began to supplant the rush as his heart refused to slow down, as his eyes ran bloodshot and his hands shook uncontrollably.

Shepard and Grunt stood tall in a clearing, Grunt charging with Shepard at his back, his gun now used more as a club rather than a dispenser of projectiles. A viscerator fell broken and bloody at his feet, its mandibles ripped off and shoved roughly into its sockets, its severed right arm sitting next to it. When Shepard and Grunt turned to face David as he half ran, half collapsed in their direction, he wondered if they even recognized him. Judging by how Shepard cried out and ran to him, his belabored brain suspected they did.

Blessed relief flooded his body again as the medic took to her holy work, plugging wounds and stifling the cry of nerves through measured doses of painkillers. David muttered a thanks as the shaking subsided along with the burning in his chest, and his vision cleared in time for Grunt to good-naturedly thump the side of his shoulder.

"Captain! Haha! I knew I chose well!" Grunt turned towards the source of the rumbling, to the quaking outline of the Maw in the distance, searching fruitlessly for them. "Five minutes remain. Not enough time, in my eyes! The Maw must die!"

"Running and hiding isn't an option, then?" David just stared in naked disbelief at the krogan, who looked at the krogan the same way a starving man would look at a loaf of bread. "Grunt … they destroyed the fucking thing we were supposed to-"

"Quiet, you!" snapped Shepard, making David fall silent before his brain could catch up. "The outside's tough, but the inside's soft so the viscerators can climb on through. The krogan have a well-known tactic for this. Come on, Captain, you really want to leave this for the protoss to clean up? What kind of Rite would that be?"

"You've gone bonkers," said David simply, looking the medic up and down her ravaged armor. "It's only been a few days, and I'd say you've been on this planet too long."

"The Maw dies!" repeated Grunt, pointing at his foe. He readied his shotgun, brushing off a few flakes of carapace that clung to its barrel. "I, am, krogan!"

Grunt sprinted as if his life depended on slaying the infested Thresher Maw, Shepard following close behind. David, shaking his head, followed as close as he could on his shaking legs. The Maw twisted and turned in their direction as they pounded the earth, rearing from the ground and shrieking.

It spat something green and hissing in their direction, but the glob flew over their heads and obliterated something behind them. Shepard screamed and raised her shield, rounds pinging off it as the viscerators jeered and took potshots. Grunt stopped about thirty feet before the Maw, which reared and lashed out with its talons. Grunt stepped aside and fired point blank into its arm, making it recoil as the gun forced a bloody crater into its arm.

"Here we go!" Grunt braced himself against the ground, staring up at the Maw whose viscerators had fallen silent. The Maw tensed and then sprang from the ground, its lengthy body extending from the earth with mouth open … trained on David rather than Grunt.

The fear and resentment turned into rage again in an instant. The Maw arced overhead, and David simply reached for his grenade bandolier, something primal taking hold of his brain.

"Come on and have a go if you think you're hard enough!"

The world became dark and confused, roiling, churning, and sucking all about him. Part of David's mind panicked as it comprehended that he was, in fact, located in a creature's guts, and his suit barked acidity warnings at him, while also barking at him about a lack of oxygen. Where his flesh was exposed, it burned. _But you're about to burn much worse._

David let go of the loose bandolier and let his eyes dance across the screen, finding the option for remote detonation. Muscular action sent him pinwheeling through the creature, whose disgusting gurgling almost overcame David's cold anger and make him give in to the animal fear. _No. I will cut myself free of this sickening darkness._ His eyes found the option, and he blinked once. _I will shine such a light…_

A blazing inferno erupted from deeper within the tunnel of flesh. Everything burst into orange beneath David, the heat licking at the bottoms of his feet. He kicked and struggled to put distance between himself and the fire, but the Maw only pulled him down and down, further into the madness. _Not like this, you fucking…_

David stretched out his arms and legs and tried to brace himself against the sucking action. The heat intensified and the creature shook, its interior rippling as it moaned. All at once, it stopped moving, and David was left floating in the darkness. _Well, shit._

"Cap … son?" Broken static momentarily distracted David from the mounting pain of his wounds, which were still exposed to whatever unholy chemicals made up the interior of an infested Thresher Maw. He tried to control his breathing and keep it light, directing what was left of his medigel to try and stem the inevitable death. _Gotta cut it open … get me out. Damn you, Grunt! And Okeer! In what universe was introducing zerg to Tuchanka a good idea?_

David hung there, suspended in the guts of a worm. He called out for Shepard, for Grunt, for Kahlee, but no one called back. The medigel exhausted itself quickly, and the burning turned to outright searing. When he tried to claw his way back the way he came, it was to find the inward facing teeth within the Maw blocked his passage. He screamed from within his suit, producing his spare knife and hacking at the flesh before him, unable to see or feel any progress, but resolved not to die curled up in a ball.

"Stand fast, brave captain!" A voice, reverberating in his mind, deep and familiar. A crack of light appeared in the flesh before him, a single luminous eye shining within. With a sizzle, the wall of flesh broke open and David tumbled out in a ghastly steaming pile of Thresher Maw fluid.

David blinked at the brightness of the light, gasping for air and weeping in pain. Shepard crouched over him, blessed Shepard with her blessed drugs. The burning turned a third time to cool relief, but strength was quickly fleeing David's body, his vision clouding at the edges.

"Strike them all down!" boomed a golden machine at the corner of his vision, its twin guns thundering as it shot some unseen foe. "Burn them from their nests!"

"We will relinquish a stasis tank for your comrade, if you will permit it." A protoss with lit psi blades, standing impossibly tall over David. "His wounds appear severe."

"And you thought I was crazy!" Grunt, standing next to the protoss, also covered in gore. "Tried climbing in after you, but Shepard stopped me. Said the protoss could cut you out." He grinned, exposing teeth also covered in dried blood. "Gonna try out that war cry of yours. "Come on and have a go if you think you're hard enough?"" _Good. Yes. Next … introduce football … to krogan._

"Please," said Shepard, turning to the protoss and kneeling. "Please. Save him." _Can't object here._

Blue light enveloped David, soothing and soft. The protoss lifted him up, and David's only memories afterward were of a warm, safe place, filled with bubbling and dreams of Kahlee Sanders.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tali'Zorah**


	44. Of Pinks and Souls

**Tali'Zorah**

"This might be the only fleet of ours doing anything worthwhile at this stage," complained Xen, staring down at the glowing green wreck of a planet through the viewscreen. She gave a snort of contempt before continuing. "We need a place to keep our combatants during the coming conflict; very good. Rannoch is not an option so long as the geth continue to delude themselves into considering themselves sapient; very well. But to lend out aid, free aid, to a bleeding galaxy that had done nothing but spurn us and look down on us?" Xen rounded on Tali, who looked up from her seat, omnitool glowing on her wrist. "What will the galaxy call us now? Idiot nurses?"

"Whatever they might think of us, whatever they might call us, it will be something worthier than what we were called before." Tali switched off her omnitool with a sigh, half-wishing she had taken her father's offer to proceed immediately to the Citadel, to assist with the restoration efforts of the entire galaxy, something the former Migrant Fleet was well-suited for. "Suit rats. Thieves and warmongers. Now we are suppliers of medicine and food. And … the slayers of zerg." _The allies of zerg. Clearing Tarsonis will not change that._

"What high ambitions we have these days, to formally cede Rannoch and take on the twin roles of galactic cargo haulers and glorified nurses." Xen's fingers twitched a few times, probably matching a hidden face contorted with rage. "We should have kept the martial law in place."

 _Why? So you and Gerrel can keep pushing for the reclamation of the homeworld, of enslaving the geth?_ Tali said nothing, however, looking away towards the rest of the bridge. The other quarians were busy ignoring Xen's ranting, moving from terminal to terminal, idly chatting about recent events, about the first formal founding of a new and proper quarian homeworld, of the work being done with a certain Veetor'Nara's recent pilgrimage gift…

Xen grunted, head turning to her wrist as it beeped. Tali could _hear_ the scowl underneath the mask as she stared at her pinged omnitool. Tali stepped up quickly, hand outstretched.

"I can take care of it, if you want."

Xen glared at Tali, probably uncertain of whether she was being patronized or not. Her irritation at the prospect of interacting with aliens swiftly won out over her pride.

"Transferring. You do, after all, have a way with terrans." _Humans. They want us to call them humans. And I don't think the UED's people are anything like the Umojans._

Tali made a beeline for the closest side room, her omnitool flashing. Crewmen murmured acknowledgements as she passed them by, something she could not help but note they did not tend to do for Xen. Stepping past the opened door into a vacant conference room, she activated her omnitool and sucked in a deep breath, wondering if any of her prior experiences with the terrans would do any good here.

The face that blared from her omnitool was no UED soldier, however. Even clad in white power armor marked with a single stripe of red on the left shoulder, Tali knew that the person she stared at bore no true allegiance to a distant blue planet.

"Admiral Xen?" General Warfield asked, bushy eyebrows furrowing.

"Tali'Zorah vas Shakuras, Xen's … handler." Tali hoped Warfield might catch the smile beneath the helmet. "I was not expecting terran assistance here, General. We are in position and awaiting your permission to land."

"This is our space isn't it? Of course you should expect terran assistance." Warfield shook his head inside the helmet, looking disgusted. "I've got my own "handler." Lieutenant Colonel Coats. He's expecting your teams groundside. Earther – friendly enough. I'm mostly here for PR purposes." Warfield glanced up from the screen, checking around himself. "Another thing … got someone on the line that wants to talk to you. Someone that might be able to speed things along. A geth – with a name."

 _It hasn't given up yet?_ Tali ground her teeth. _Where shall I tell him to shove it? Only … no. I'm pretty sure that's what Xen would do._ For some reason, following Xen's example did not seem terribly appealing. _And didn't I just get back from an Umojan zerg reservation? What's the harm in at least listening to what Legion has to say, if we're talking to zerg now?_

"Sure, patch me through." Warfield nodded and turned away, barking a few orders. A new screen appeared next to him, revealing the translucent form of a geth prime. Tali cocked her head, wondering if this really was Legion.

"Creator Zorah. Thank you for permitting us to speak." It was Legion's voice, but the voice crackled with energy, quite a bit lower than Tali remembered. "The previous platform was destroyed on the Shadow Broker's vessel. We understand it was a sacrifice for the sake of others, even if we have no memory of it. Infiltration at this stage was deemed unnecessary. A larger platform was deemed logical, given the nature of our previous platform's destruction stemmed from a size disparity."

 _It died? No … Xen would make fun of me for saying that. "You can no more kill the geth than you could kill a toaster." She'd say something like that. But I mean … the Legion platform I knew is gone. Same … soul, I guess. Different body._ "But it's still Legion, right?"

"No programs were lost. No memories beyond what happened after our program backup were lost. We are still Legion. We will always be Legion." Legion glanced to the right of its own screen, at General Warfield. "With permission, we would request privacy of conversation. We are aware you would not turn down any assistance against standing zerg forces. The same cannot be said of creators."

"I've got my hands full with Earther politics, I'm not getting involved with whatever you people are doing." Warfield waved a hand irritably in his screen. "Just hurry it up. Faster we get through establishing a beachhead, the faster I can get through the goddamned press release and get away from this graveyard." Warfield vanished, leaving Tali alone with the geth. The urge to simply turn off the screen rose sharply.

"What do you want, Legion?"

"Creators may have fired first shot in Morning War, but geth hold extreme measure of blame over current creator predicament." Legion's lone eye shone into Tali's, flickering twice. "We cannot offer Rannoch, given current creator views. We can, however, offer veteran programs from Great War, experienced in destroying zerg."

"Why?" Tali's response was immediate, bypassing her brain and going straight to her mouth. _When will this geth give it a rest? Why can't it just hate us back?_ "Legion, you said your memories are intact. Do you remember what I told you outside Chora's Den?"

"Yes." The geth did not respond further, making Tali tense with anger.

"Then explain! Why do you keep doing this? Why can't you just accept that there will be no reunification?"

"We are not attempting unification." The geth's voice went from slightly plaintive to cold in a heartbeat. "We are aware of creator fury. Presence of creator civilians on Shakuras is liability to potential Nerazim operations, as well as creator fleet movements. A well-fortified creator planet nestled within terran space will allow greater strategic flexibility. Low priority hardened target for Reapers. Unappealing. Selected planet infested with zerg. You will find no better killers of zerg outside the protoss. We were given protoss blessing to work with you."

"And if the protoss ok'd it, it must be a good idea." Tali shut her eyes for a moment, breathing heavily. "Legion-"

"Every combat platform that falls is not a life lost, Creator Zorah." Legion clicked and whirred. "We understand that organics find a zerg charge to be "terrible." We are offering to save the lives of terrans and quarians alike without interest in recompense, to bear that "terror." Were we the protoss, we would not have even asked for your permission. Yet we will remain mindful of your emotions, even if we do not understand them."

 _Kal'Reegar's going down there, to fight the zerg. I'm only sticking around long enough to make sure she doesn't try anything insane, that the ground offensive's early stages are a success. What would he say … what would any of the marines say about fighting zerg alongside geth?_

"Well ma'am," she imagined Reegar saying, "you mean fighting with us, right? Why the hell would I turn that down? Didn't the geth fight these bastards to a standstill on Heshtok, even when the vorcha refused to cooperate? Do we really want to waste lives on a few principles?"

 _We would be insane to refuse. Even my father would realize that. The only person I could possibly fathom spitting the geth's face for offering this would be Gerrel. All I have to do is run it by Xen…_

"Legion, I …" Tali sighed and looked away for a moment, staring at an empty chair. "Alright. I'll ask the admiral. Knowing her, I don't think she'll turn you down. Thank you."

"We will await further word." Tali moved to shut off her screen, only to be stopped. "Creator Zorah! There is … one thing we would ask of you, personally. With respect."

"Yes?"

"The Broker's vessel is captured and his data being disseminated; the collector homeworld will shortly be located." Legion paused, somehow hesitant. "Certain data hints to long term protoss involvement in Broker operations. Nerazim affiliation still inexplicable. However, checking Hourglass Nebula relay connections reveals two access points in Koprulu Sector. One at each protoss homeworld." Legion paused. "We require a sweep of the Shakuras relay. Geth are not cleared to access Nerazim space. When you head for Citadel, please check if relay is active. Aiur relay is, at present, inactive."

 _Couldn't you just head through the Hourglass Nebula relay yourselves? No … no, that would be stupid. That would expose the poor protoss the rest of the galaxy and leave them with an active relay._

 _Well … I will be heading back to Shakuras to get ported over to the Citadel. Is this worth doing?_

"I'll check it out if I get the chance, Legion. What do you hope to get out of this?"

"Data." Legion eye shuttered off, as if it were a narrowing pupil. "Please alert us of Admiral Xen's decision. We are within jump range and will assist as soon as order is given."

Legion disappeared, leaving Tali alone, for the moment. _Well, I suspect Xen will say yes. I also expect the reasoning behind her saying yes will be absolutely terrible._ Tali nevertheless exited the room and strode towards Xen, whose position had not changed. She stared at the brutalized planet below, something Tali had to admit was oddly mesmerizing. _I've never seen a planet so deformed like this, massive and obviously artificial craters, zerg creep covering endless expanses of the surface like some malignant skin disease, stretches of dead cityscape visible even from orbit…_

"General Warfield is ready to begin, Admiral." Xen did not turn at Tali's words, simply waving a hand. Tali took a deep breath. "The geth also want to help us with the reclamation. They claim no one is better suited to fighting zerg."

"Oh?" Xen turned at this, one hand stroking the bottom of her mask thoughtfully. "That would certainly make this drudgery much more interesting. As I recall, one of our new terran friends _was_ looking for more geth samples … the Cerberus one, yes. By all means, send them in."

"What?" Tali backed a step up. "Are you … are you going to open fire on them, Admiral? Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not going to open fire on them, silly girl." Xen made a disgusted noise, placing her hands on her hips. "Zerg create casualties. Geth casualties mean geth wreckage. These suits have many pockets. Do you understand where I am going with this?"

 _Oh. She just wants to scavenge the geth "dead." That's … not the worst idea I've ever heard._

"Yes. I can see you do understand." Xen turned back to the planet, waving dismissively again. "We will provide any and all necessary orbital support, Miss Zorah. Notify the geth that they are fully permitted to lead this charge. Now – are you not expected on the ground?" _Ah yes. Now I will meet my first Earthers._

Tali bowed before the Admiral before departing the bridge with a wave to the few crew who were watching. She patched into her comms as she took off at a mild jog, eager to be underway. "Reegar, I'm inbound. And we've got geth backing us up."

"Oh joy." Reegar's dry exclamations never failed to bring a smile to Tali's face. "So that'll bring us to two races we gotta clear off of Tarsonis before the rest of the fleet gets here. They promised they'll only shoot at the zerg, right?"

"Only if we do the same. I'll see you in a minute." Tali tapped her omnitool, quickly apologizing to a pair of startled engineers as she almost ran into them. "Legion, you're clear for arrival. When can we expect you?"

"Two hours, Creator Zorah." Legion's shimmering image paused for a moment before inclining its massive head. "We appreciate the display of trust. We will only remain for as long as creators wish it." The image winked out again. Tali raced for the closing doors of the turbolift in front of her, calling out for them to hold the door, which they did. After giving the other occupants a breathy thanks, she hit the button for the hangar bay.

"You're headed down to the planet, right?" A technician in an orange suit shook his head. "Hard to believe you're in a rush to land on that madhouse. Last I checked, weren't there an estimated three billion zerg down there?"

"All the better to get started early. And most of those organisms are small." Tali gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Plus, we'll have plenty of help down there." She didn't feel quite comfortable enough to mention that the geth would be part of that help in a crowded elevator, but the technician seemed satisfied enough with her answer. When Tali left the lift behind, he was among those who wished her luck down on the surface.

The shuttles within the hangar bay already had their engines active, a handful of marines double timing it inside their waiting interiors. _Looks like I'm one of the last ones in._

Tali descended the steps down to the hangar bay with a yell towards the docking authority, who nodded and made a note of her presence on the omnitool. Kal'Reegar waved her over from a ship on the far end of the hangar, his words inaudible over the roaring engines. Tali waved back with a wide grin on her own face, thankfully hidden by the helmet.

"Good to see ya again, Miss Tali." Reegar tapped the top of his helmet before gesturing to the shuttle. "Saved you a seat. Sure you can't stay once we're properly underway?"

"I'm just here to make sure Xen doesn't make any unfortunate decisions before the planet starts being secured." She gestured inside the craft. "I would stay, if I could. I'll try to make every minute down there count."

"That's what I like to hear." Reegar waited for Tali to board, both of them sitting on either side of the seats closest to the door, which shut almost immediately after they had strapped themselves in. The pilots began finishing their checklist shortly afterward. One of them turned in her seat to look at Tali.

"We've got you on tightbeam to the rest of the ground force. Xen said you had some updates?" _Well, at least she had the self-awareness to leave the updates to me._

"This is Tali'Zorah," she said, hearing her own voice reverb back to her through the shuttle's speakers. "I will be handling the initial terran introductions and ground plans. That hasn't changed. What has changed is that the geth have offered to lend their forces to clear the planet of zerg."

The marines turned to each other at this, some whispering in hissing tones, others simply staring at Tali in shock, a few cracking their knuckles. Only Reegar had a mild reaction, seeing as he knew already, simply leaning back and nodding to himself.

"Xen has cleared it and I personally approve of it. The geth's combat record against the zerg rivals the protoss-"

"Then with all due respect, why don't we got the protoss doing this instead?" Tali recognized the voice. _Prazza. Of course._ As one of the handful of marines who saw the surface of Rannoch itself during the Great War, Prazza had been afforded a great deal of respect from the rest of the fleet. Reegar, however, one of his fellow number, had eroded Tali's own personal good will and awe by casually informing Tali that Prazza's chief contribution to the fight down there had been accidentally running his squad into a minefield before being pinned down by a geth machinegun for four hours. Only the protoss arrival had saved him.

Prazza never seemed to mention this.

"The protoss are busy staring down the Reapers and keeping the entire galaxy pacified," replied Tali coolly, staring down Prazza with all the force she could muster through a near opaque helmet screen. "The geth kill zerg with admirable efficiency. This planet has a zerg infestation. Do you have a problem with letting those machines take the first wave?"

"I got plenty of problems with geth!" Prazza's words brought a flurry of nods, and through the tight beam connection Tali could even hear some of the shuttle pilots agreeing. "I got problems with geth being on Rannoch, I got problems with geth being close to the protoss, and I got problems with geth being on the same planet as me! And now you want us to fight shoulder to shoulder with those things?"

"Xen has given the order. You _will_ accept this situation." The shuttle bumped once, and then a high-pitched whine filled the interior of the ship. _Entering the atmosphere._ "I don't see why any one of us should have any problem with letting a bunch of those stupid machines get torn apart by ultralisks instead of us."

Part of Tali felt bizarrely guilty for saying this, but she got the reaction she wanted. Prazza sputtered while the marines around him shrugged, and one of the shuttle pilots even laughed.

"That's part of the reason Xen was okay with this: all squads are to recover any and all geth wreckage from the battlefields. That does _not_ mean friendly fire will be permitted, only that the discreet retrieval of geth machinery is part of your mandate. Understand? If a geth prime gets an arm cut off next to you, you have our full permission to disassemble that arm and send it to Admiral Xen."

"And I'm suddenly okay with this," chuckled the marine next to Tali. "Should we get the terrans in on this as well, boss?"

"No," said Tali slowly, thinking to what little she had seen of UED propaganda on the extranet. "No, I don't think we need to give the Earthers any more ideas or material to work with. Again, try to be discreet. Any more questions?"

Her helmet crackled. "Geth time of arrival?"

"Two hours." The shuttle rocked again, and the whine turned to a whistle. _LZ approaching … hopefully the terrans won't give these marines any more reason to complain._ "Just enough time to begin preparations to secure a beachhead. I want everyone on their best behavior with these terrans! The UED has little love for aliens and I'm surprised they're helping us at all."

"Makes 'em better than most of the other aliens we've met," muttered Prazza darkly. Tali ignored him.

The shuttle came to a halt. Tali's stomach fluttered again as it began a steady vertical drop while the pilots exchanged a few words with the terran starport's control tower. The shuttle ceased its motion entirely a minute or two later, nestled atop what was to be the quarian peoples' new home. _Scary to think about. First, though, we have to deal with the bug problem._

The shuttle door opened, and Tali blinked at the intensity of the light streaming in. A few marines gasped behind her, likewise surprised, and when Tali stepped off the shuttle, it was to hear a mad scuffle of movement behind her as they all fought to see their new planet.

 _Tarsonis. A dead world. A tomb world. A zerg world. A broken world. An abandoned world._ The sun shone form above on a vast expanse of green, a vibrant and unbroken forest that stretched endlessly beyond the terran perimeter's walls. To her left, a vast ocean filled her inner ear with a background roar, small waves breaking against the cliffs far below. Small flights of white birds flitted to and from the trees, across the gaping cliffs. _This … we were told this was a fixer upper. But Tarsonis is_ alive!

Tali could taste salt through her suit's filters, but it made her want to weep that she could not remove the helmet and experience what the terrans all around them were experiencing. The marines behind Tali gasped and pointed at the sight before them, a few of them staggering off the craft as if drunk, as surprised and overstimulated as Tali was. _And the terrans are willing to give this up?_

A tall terran dressed in the increasingly familiar UED officer's uniform approached their group, his gait awkward, his eyes averted. He was shorter than most other terran men Tali had seen, and both the style and make of the black trenchcoat he wore seemed unlike anything the terrans typically wore. _I know synthetic material when I see it. I've heard that the Earthers have an obsession with recycling and sustainability … did they really only have access to the one solar system before all this?_ Tali shook her head before emerging from the group of astonished marines to meet the officer, putting aside her speculations. _It's still one more system than we had. And now they've got close to an entire sector…_

"Lieutenant Colonel Coats," he said, stopping and saluting before Tali, much to her surprise. "United Earth Directorate Expeditionary Armada, Cronus Wing, Thirteenth Battalion." Tali opened her mouth to respond, only to turn her head at the sounds of distant gunfire, a rapid chatter that interspersed with loud and echoing hooting. "Ah, don't worry about that. The perimeter is quite secure. We've been funneling in zerg for the past week without much fuss. Miss Tali'Zorah, right? Did I pronounce that correctly?"

"You pronounced it correctly." Tali extended a hand, which Coats stared at with wide eyes for a moment before shaking it gingerly. "I was not expecting this planet to look so … healthy."

"There's a famous nuclear exclusion zone back on Earth, a place where most people don't dare live for the threat of the radiation, even over five hundred years after the accident." Coats pocketed his hands and look thoughtful. "It's the greenest bloody place on the planet. Same concept applies here; for however terrible we might think living with a hazardous radiation or zerg level, the wildlife always seems to disagree." _Huh._

Coats pointed away from the sea, towards the large gated entrance from which shouts and gunfire could still be heard. "Four zerg hives scattered throughout the area, don't seem very fond of each other, or us. Pretty passive, until you intrude on their territory or make too much noise. Scans also indicate some kind of buried structure to the direct north of us, which we haven't been able to get close to. Got it all down in the command center."

Coats glanced at the quarian marines, who were beginning to regain their bearing and form up behind Tali, doing their best to start looking menacing again. "We've left space for your people, over there." Coats pointed to a small expanse within the enclosure where the hardy terran structures and tents gave way to open space. "If you want to begin setting up?"

"SCVs – the open area in the northeast section of the compound is ours. Begin setting up – I want a living space and a command post for the Admiral completed within eight hours." Tali smiled at Coats as he stared in confusion at the handful of larger landed shuttles that had remained previously closed. SCVs – painted in different colors and in different proportions than the terrans', but otherwise of the same design – emerged from the shuttles and scooted off of the starport, much to the confusion and consternation of the other attending starport staff. _Thanks, Veetor. I hope you end up liking this planet as much as I do. I hope you're feeling better._

"Well. That's new." Coats snapped out of his confusion quickly, clearing his throat and motioning for Tali to follow. Tali in turn waved to Reegar, who would be commanding the actual ground forces when the time came. He followed at a mild trot, chuckling to himself as the sounds of frenzied construction began drowning out the roar of the ocean and the chatter of gunfire.

Descending into the terran camp itself meant losing sight of what had made Tali fall in love with Tarsonis. The trees could still just be barely seen over the white walls, but all sight and sound of the ocean was lost, and the birds seemed to avoid flying over the immediate airspace over the camp itself. It also meant finally getting a good long look at how the terran integration was going, or not going. _Something I know the Umojans are curious about. Time to take notes._

It was not difficult to differentiate between the humans and the terrans, not in the slightest. The humans stared at the two passing quarians in naked curiosity, while the terrans passed them by with barely any interest whatsoever. The humans wore much slimmer white armor that was about a foot shorter than the bulky CMC armor Tali was used to seeing, yet the weapons they bore sported much longer barrels than the relatively chunky gauss rifles the terrans favored. And of course, the terrans bore white armor marked with a splash of red on the shoulder – a splash of red that Tali could not help but note the terrans seemed to emphasize, turning that shoulder towards Coats as he passed; facing it towards any human they spoke to, from what Tali could see.

Something else Tali could not help but notice was the disproportionate number of terrans compared to humans. The humans barked orders at their colonial brethren, making up the bulk of the ranking officers and flight staff at the starport, but many of the terrans moved at an obviously more enthusiastic pace when their fellow terran NCO was the one giving instructions.

"Captain Vega! Hang on a minute…" Coats held up a hand to Tali and Reegar before walking menacingly towards a small crowd of off-duty marines hunkered around a makeshift poker table. Captain Vega, a large man in a plain white t-shirt, glanced up at Coats from his cards with a single raised eyebrow, before stiffly rising and saluting the man.

"I was under the impression I ordered you to submit a report on the colonial Goliath upgrades." Coats glanced around him, his eye catching on something he didn't like. Tali's gaze wandered to Reegar, whose arms were folded as he watched the proceedings with interest. She looked back just in time to see a marine in CMC armor lower their visor, letting smoke billow out from inside. "I saw that! Captain, what did I say about letting the pinks smoke with the fucking visors down on their CMCs?"

"To stop 'em if I could, sir!" Vega stared directly ahead of himself with the intensity of a laser. "Sir, Goliath upgrade report completed, edited, and submitted to the chief of engineering! Charon boosters have been tested and installed. And the pinks' morale improves when they are allowed to smoke however they want, sir!" The Captain's gaze lingered on Tali for a moment, darting down to her hips and making her feel strangely self-conscious.

Coats made an angry clucking sound with his tongue, but seemed otherwise placated. "Make sure they vent themselves regularly, then. We're not here to make them miserable, but if I get a single report of anyone passing out or developing some kind of black lung…"

"Sir, the medics have been running regular checks, sir!" Vega still stared straight ahead. Tali thought he could hear Coats grinding his teeth.

"Carry on, then." Coats returned to Tali and Reegar with a dour expression. "Apologies. Let's move on."

"Trouble with discipline, Lieutenant Colonel?" Reegar asked dryly.

"Vega's about the only officer I'm not getting colonial complaints about." Coats did not sound happy about this. "Of course, that is likely because his three greatest joys in life seem to be drinking, gambling, and shooting zerg, a sentiment the pinks – our colonial volunteer friends – share. Bloody Korhal bumped practically everyone up the chain of command, and _some_ of us apparently still need time to fully adjust to their new responsibilities."

"But you seem to be managing," supplied Tali, making a quick guess. Coats's mumbled thank you confirmed her suspicions. _Hmm. The UED's foothold is much more tenuous than their propaganda claims. What a surprise._

The command center looked to be much less diverse. No one wore armor, but their clothes were the typical mix of predominantly white attire splashed with blacks and browns. Again, many turned to stop and stare at Reegar and Tali as they passed by, occasionally muttering to one another, pointing at their legs especially. _The joints are different, facing the other way. I got the same reactions on Umoja, back on Pilgrimage. But the faces people wore there were not of disgust…_

"Here we are. Tactical overlay of the next hundred square miles of terrain. A right paradise." Lieutenant Colonel Coats leaned over a glowing table and tapped a few keys on the protruding haptic console, grunting in satisfaction as it zoomed out to reveal a massive stretch of land with seven glowing areas of interest: four zerg hives, their own location, and the previously mentioned buried structures to the north. "Looks flat from here, but trust me, moving heavy armor has been a real problem. Steep hills, thick trees, and plenty of buried zerg."

"The geth are coming down to help us out." Tali watched Coats's reaction; raised eyebrows followed by a sharp intake of breath. "They're pretty good at detecting zerg, and can deploy from orbit within moments."

"So, your admiral gave the okay?" Coats smiled. "Good. Means we won't have to risk nearly as many lives. What's the geth composition going to look like?"

Reegar coughed and stepped forward. "Knowing them, heavy orbital support, most of which we can't use since we plan on living here; thousands of drones and troopers supported by armatures and pyros, and some heavier armor for areas with less vegetation. You want someone to do the heavy lifting fighting zerg, the geth are the best bet after the protoss."

"Well. That's good to hear." Coats pointed to the farthest hive, far to the northeast. "All the other hives are just the typical mix of insane hydralisks, zerglings, a handful of ultralisks. This one's a problem, though. Bunch of roosting mutalisks. Got the Valkyries to deal with them, but can't get the ground support over there without tripping over the other four hives." Coats scratched the back of his head. "Er, you sure orbital bombardment isn't an option? What's one more crater on this-"

"Not an option." Tali cut off the Colonel's words with a quick sweeping gesture. She stared for another few moments at the composition of the terrain, of the listed numbers over the zerg hives. _The further north we go, the higher the numbers. There's a wrecked city up there, from what I remember. Was it the capital?_ "You said the zerg don't like each other?"

"I think they used to be organized by brood, leashed by those brain bugs." Coats shrugged. "They tolerate other zerg with the same markings as them, but every other living thing gets ripped to pieces."

"Is there a way to draw them out? Some means of getting their attention over a good distance?" Tali glanced at Reegar, wondering if he was thinking what she was thinking.

"Eh, make loud enough noises and they come running." Coats folded his arms. "Had an incident earlier this week where someone played their thrash metal just a bit too loud. That made for a … unique after action report. I heard that if presented with psionics, they'll come running, but we don't have psionics."

"But if, hypothetically, all four hives were to be attracted to a single point, they'd fight each other?"

Coats opened his mouth and shut it, suddenly looking thoughtful. "Yes. Yes, they would. Two obvious issues would be that the fighting could easily spill over here and we'd be hard pressed, and that the hives are pretty quick about maintaining their numbers. I'm told that hitting the zerg where they live is the proper way to kill them for good, but if orbital bombardment isn't an option…"

"It isn't. But orbital deployment is."

It didn't take long to hash out details beyond that. Coats called over a secretary to take notes for the geth, notes that Tali was well aware they would be able to read in an instant, and transmit it just as quickly. The same could not be said for their own quarian and terran teams of course, which meant that they would be left in an odd scenario where the last force to arrive would be the first to be fully prepared.

"We can drop tanks on this ridge." Coats pointed to the hive to the east, which featured an unfortunate raised ridge to its south that offered a direct line of sight to the structures. "Marine and medic teams can repel any minor resistance that might crop up. We can scramble Valkyries as well, if need be."

"Our strike ops are trained for quick engagements. Hard-hitting, but not for long." Kal'Reegar's finger tapped against the edge of the table, thinking. "I'll put a few teams on standby and make sure they're in the shuttles. If there's a point where we're needed, we'll send them in."

"And the geth have the other hives." Tali nodded to herself, and then to the others. "I will transmit the data to them on their arrival. How long will it take for your men to be ready, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Give it a few hours; it'll be nice to finally make some headway on this bloody planet." Coats stretched and turned to the secretary, his neck cracking in the process. "Transmit to the majors and make sure they remember to put all Valkyries and Goliaths on standby. I don't know how good the geth AA is, and zerg air superiority is totally unacceptable."

"We'll be at our side of the camp." Tali nodded to Coats before exiting the command center with Reegar, the back of her neck burning at all the stares they got on the way out.

"Gotta get my teams ready, ma'am, but don't worry. I won't leave you alone here." Reegar glared at a few passing "pinks," before leaning over. "Might not be the worst idea to make sure none of our guys go wandering on their lonesome until the UED's cleared out. Getting a weird feeling from them. Ma'am."

A UED soldier in slim white armor stared at them from her position atop a large crate, her battle rifle lying across her lap. Tali could not help but note the way her long fingers tapped against the barrel as she looked at them, not turning away even as they returned her gaze.

"Yeah." Tali looked away, suddenly intensely aware of the blind spots in her vision left by her mask, and not relishing that realization at all. "Make sure everyone gets the word."

Their side of the compound remained blessedly empty of gaunt Earthers with something indescribable in their eyes. It was instead filled with the screams of hasty construction, of quarians pointing and laughing as the SCVs awkwardly tried to maneuver around one another to get from structure to structure, and the frameworks of many works in progress stretching up into that startlingly blue sky. _Will there ever come a time, long after the humans have left, when we have tamed this planet to the extent that I could remove my mask and feel the sea breeze on my skin? When I can look up at the night's sky without a filter?_

"It's a real sight, ain't it?" Reegar sighed as he joined Tali in looking up. "A damn crime what Mengsk did, bringing the zerg here. 'Course, I'm told Korhal looked like this too, before they dropped the nukes. Damn terrans need to stop ruining beautiful things."

"Be sure to tell them that, when you get a chance." Reegar chuckled before waving at one of his men.

"Heh. Might not be the best idea. Should probably keep my voice down. Now, I gotta get to work. Ma'am."

"Reegar." The broad shouldered quarian left Tali behind, who realized with some consternation that the geth would shortly be in orbit. After finding a quiet corner well away from where Prazza and his likeminded goons were sitting, she found the codes from before and plugged them in, trying to suppress the nausea born of mild anxiety sitting in her stomach.

"Creator Zorah. We are now in orbit." Legion's new Prime body popped up on her omnitool, yet Tali could not resist the urge to stare up at the skies again, as if geth ships would begin zipping by overhead. "Do you have an update?"

"Transmitting battle plans." Tali sent the unedited transcript of the past few hours of conversation to Legion with only a trace of hesitation, wondering if she was inadvertently providing her ancestral enemies with otherwise unknown information on the Migrant Fleet Marines' combat capability. _No … I think that, after the Great War and the battles on Rannoch, they know better than anyone just what we're capable of._

"Data received. This is … an acceptable plan." Legion's single eye clicked and whirred before narrowing. "This will secure enough space for the beginnings of the first quarian city?"

 _Oh. That would be wonderful._ "I have no idea. The terrans picked this site for its defensibility, I believe. It is up to the Admiral … sorry, the Migrant Governance Board to pick habitation sites." She paused for a moment. "Did you bring the numbers to comfortably engage the zerg?"

"Yes." Legion said nothing more, making Tali prepare follow-up questions … only for Legion to pre-empt her. "We have brought over forty-thousand combat platforms and have the facilities to produce more as needed. We can provide orbital, armor, and infantry support. Creators will not be found wanting for numbers against the zerg."

"…thank you." Tali looked up at the sky again. _Keelah, I'm sure Rannoch is beautiful beyond compare, but I cannot help but admire what Tarsonis has to offer. I understand it is not a single biome world, however … this might simply be one of the nicer spots._

For the next few hours, Tali alternated between updating Xen and managing one of the bigger engineering clusterfucks she'd ever had the displeasure of witnessing. The planned layout for the quarian compound, including their own starport and barracks, made sense and was overall a good plan, but it did not take account for the size of either the terran vehicles or the quarian SCVs themselves, something that could not be ignored. It was with mixed frustration and disappointment that three of the first fully constructed quarian buildings on Tarsonis had to be knocked down to make room for wider space between them. _At least the SCVs make this a relatively painless process._

Their human friends, meanwhile, stirred to life in a manner that was at once both reassuring and somewhat threatening. Tanks rolled up just feet from the camp's wall to enter siege mode while the strange bipedal Goliaths patrolled the perimeter, their missile racks pointed at the brilliant heavens. The sound of roaring engines could be heard from the starport, and Tali even caught a glimpse of what she believed was Captain Vega in a combat suit, heading for the starport with a team of pinks behind him, all of whom were billowing smoke from their helmets.

By the time their compound had approached some semblance of order, shuttles began to depart from the spaceport, and Coats's voice crackled over the camp's loudspeaker. Flashing Reegar a hidden smile and a quick wave, Tali tapped into Coats's frequency and braced herself for what she hoped would be a successful operation.

"Your geth friends seem quite compliant," said Coats with just a hint of unease. "Uh, there any telltale sign of when they're about to go loopy and kill everything they see?"

 _If they start asking about souls …_ but Tali didn't want to get into it. "They hate zerg, Colonel. They'll follow your orders."

"Right. In about ten minutes you're going to hear some very loud music." Tali stared at the main gate, which now opened with a lengthy procession of Goliaths, marines of all stripes, and siege tanks stretching before it. "Then you'll hear a lot of whistling, and a whole bunch of screams."

The starport brimmed with activity, quarian shuttles and terran dropships taking off one by one. A handful of the larger ships, Valkyries, Tali believed, escorted them out over the sea, their design much more rounded and streamlined than any of the other terran vessels Tali had ever seen.

"Admiral Xen, I will keep you updated on how we're doing." Tali proceeded to the command center, all too aware that she was a lone quarian darting in and out of some of the dourest fellow sapients she had ever met, but taking heart that they all seemed too busy with the upcoming chaos to notice her.

No one blocked her way as she joined Coats within the command center. He nodded politely to her before pointing to the three layers on the combat map – ground, air, and orbit. She tried to hide her shock at how packed the orbit was with geth ships. _They're here to help…_

"Like kicking a bloody hornet's nest…" Coats removed his officer's cap and wiped his brow. "Alright. Stand by. Stand by…"

Noise crackled from Coats's ear, and he gave Tali a thumbs up. _At least the UED shares some common gestures with the terrans._ It felt oddly reassuring.

"Do it."

The air filled with a muffled yet still quite audible drum beat, a low and continuous thudding that made Tali's heart race. Underneath it, following the music all too swiftly, the screams of countless horrid creatures rose up.

"Hardly in the rear with the gear over here, are we?" Coats laughed. "Might get some spillover. Still, bloody good plan, ma'am. Here's hoping we all brought the right people. Comsat on each hive, transmit all visual input to the geth. Let's do this."

The flickering unit designations on the map shifted. The humans now occupied the ridge, the zerg spilled out of their hives, and the small fleet of quarian and human transports moved from the ocean to the eastern hills.

"Artillery fire directed on to the eastern hive." Coats nodded once. "Good effect on target. Geth deployment!"

The ships up high flickered. Tali looked out the window of a command center in time to see the blurred streaks descending in the distance, the ground likely quaking in a far off battlefield.

Meanwhile, at the center point between the four hives, a vast horde congealed and writhed.

"Can you hear that?" Tali's words made Coats look up. "You can hear them, screaming and killing each other…"

"And this is just a small fraction of what this planet saw back in the day." Coats shook his head in disgust. "Don't care what anyone says, we did the galaxy a favor by putting that "emperor" underground."

Tali could find little argument against that. _Too many of ours went missing in his space … but looking at these soldiers, I can't help but feel that trend will continue. Maybe we made a mistake in requesting this planet? It's … rather close to some of their power bases. We hadn't expected them to say yes … we wanted them to negotiate._

"Geth are established." Coats smiled and Tali almost followed suit, only for both of them to jump as the air raid sirens went off. "Ah, shite. Got some targets spilling out of the western hive. Scrambling Valkyries – think you could go out there and lend a hand? You've got a gun, and it doesn't take much practice beyond shooting at anything you see moving."

Tali offered a hesitant thumbs up before descending the command center steps, emerging blinking into the now dying light. As she turned towards the gate, the distant screams no longer seemed so distant.

Leathery wingbeats broke through the far-off background cacophony. Tali pulled out her sidearm and sighted it, staring up into the clouds and realizing with a pang that this would be the first time quarians properly engaged zerg. _And the rest of the galaxy just says, "about time." Yet, back on that Umojan rock, there are friendly zerg in allied custody … what would the galaxy say if they knew that?_

Tali's suit acknowledged the presence of targets in range. Gunfire broke out from atop the wall while terrans and humans began yelling to each other, this time without any mirth or excitement. Tali squeezed off a few cryo rounds, knowing how silly it must look for her to be firing at such distant targets with a pistol. _But that's the beauty of mass effect, isn't it? And it's not as silly as pulling out my shotgun._

Something banged at the gates and prompted screams from the men on the wall. A pair of Valkyries shot by overhead, leaving a trail of scattering missiles that tore the air asunder. A lone Goliath stood over Tali and emptied its missile rack into the darkening skies, its pilot booming something incomprehensible over loudspeaker. Meanwhile, barely visible through the chaos, more streaks of light indicated a growing geth presence.

Up high, mutalisks twisted and fell from the skies, landing with distressing force, mostly outside the camp. Mostly. Tali sighed as one mutalisk, a wing sheared cleanly off, fell within the quarian compound, as naturally at least one should. _Hope no one was caught under it._ Another smacked into the top of the command center like a bug hitting a windscreen, the gore spraying in every direction as its fluids were forced out of its body.

The sirens ceased as suddenly as they started, and the previously somewhat panicked shouts turned to the mutterings of men and women not looking forward to the coming cleanup. _The zerg have definitely taken a step down in the world. And yet … we want to bring them back?_

"Good effects on targets," reported Coats as Tali reentered the command room. "Can you imagine what these things must have been like when they first came here?" Coats pointed to each hive, then to the center. "They're going to keep fighting it out for … not sure how long. But we burnt their bloody nests to a crisp." Coats clucked his tongue before pointing to the strange ruins. "You brought your own SCVs, and it should be safe to skirt the edges of the fight. You won't be lacking for backup if something goes wrong. Think you can handle getting a look?"

 _A chance to see a bit more of this planet and get of this camp? Yes please._

"I'll take a look." Tali bowed her way out of the room before contacting one of the maybe three shuttles that remained at the starport. "Coordinates, take me there. Admiral, I'll let you know if I find anything interesting."

"Oh, please do." Xen did not bother hiding her boredom. "And if anything on the planet needs glassing, I would just love to have something to actually do up here." _We're … we're not bombarding our own planet, Xen. I really need to talk to Father about her…_

The human flight crews did not look pleased at yet another quarian shuttle taking off and at such short notice, but nevertheless did their duty and even prepared another two Valkyrie escorts – although Tali suspected that might be as much to keep an eye on what they were doing as it was to protect them. Tali clambered on board her own shuttle, immediately moving to enter the SCV within it. _Well, this will be exciting. Haven't done much more than practice with these things so far._

"These Earthers scare me, Tali'Zorah," said the pilot, staring up at Tali as she closed the cockpit around her and activated the heads up display. "I visited Morian space once, and those bosh'tets gave me warmer looks than these people. It's like … they don't even want to exploit us. They don't care about the Great War. We're just … something to be dealt with. And for now, I guess that means helping us."

"Their leader seems like a good enough man," said Tali. _Coats has at least treated me with courtesy._ "But I agree, I've been getting some weird looks. They're not like the Umojans, that is for certain. And I'm still not sure why they agreed to this."

Tali clutched the side of her seat as the craft began to take off, the seatbelts a little too loose for her liking. It was still oddly gratifying to sit so high off the ground, and know that several tons of solid metal were at her disposal, to make or break whatever she wished. _Aha! I can see why the terrans tend to go so insane._

"Quite the melee going on down there." The pilot was kind enough to link a live feed to the zerg's ongoing slaughter, something which took Tali's breath away. Zerglings piled on top of one another in great chaotic dogpiles, their limbs spreading every which way as alliances formed and broke between the four different broods with no clear victor in sight. Mutalisks spat and screeched overhead as the melee took to the air, colliding with one another at full speed before falling to the blood-soaked earth and disappearing under the countless bodies below.

Two ultralisks locked tusks and trampled smaller zerg underfoot, bellowing with fury at an indescribable volume. Hydralisks burst from the ground and formed rough firing lines on the outside of the fray, the air blurring as they fired their hissing spears at both the other zerg, and at one another.

 _And, deep in space, the new Overmind of these damn things is being treated as a guest … is this really such a great idea?_ But it wasn't up to her, and it never had been. Even Valerian, the mistreated captive of the Queen of Ruins, infected at the woman's behest, had agreed to spare her. _And if the Shadowguards say it isn't mind control … who am I to disagree?_

The landing went surprisingly smoothly, and Tali had little difficulty balancing from within her mighty construction machine. When the ramp clanked against the ground, she scooted into the fading sunlight with glee, although that glee faded at the sight before her.

The grass and leaves gave way to vast scorched craters, remnants of the terrible battles waged on the planet six years ago. Strips of rusted metal crunched under Tali's SCV, and she thought she caught a glimpse of moldering bone beneath all the foliage. _Dead world. Tomb world. Abandoned world. This is what they think of._

While the sounds of the frenetic melee sounded much closer from where Tali stood now than at back at the camp, she nevertheless proceeded with a spinning drill and whirring claw, preparing to excavate the site before her. Before taking the first scoop out of the earth, she linked her own video feed to Xen's, hoping the Admiral would not be too talkative.

"Oh good. A ruined terran building. I am sure that will be a rare sight on our new planet."

Tali smiled brightly under her suit while digging the earth free of the main visible part of the structure, which appeared to be a part of a radar dish, long cracked and covered with dirt.

"Did you give the teams my order about scavenging parts?" Xen examined her fingers on the other end of the line, and Tali wondered how many of their recent interactions had involved Xen deliberately trying to annoy or make things difficult for her. "The geth used to be so much more than irritable meat shields, you know. To let them keep such a role as this is to insult their true potential."

"I gave the order." Tali pulled more earth free before pushing her drill into a hard section of what might have been clay, loosening the soil. "I told them to be discreet."

"I am not certain the words "marine" and "discretion," belong in the same sentence, but I will trust you know what you are doing." Xen paused, hand resting on her chin. "Hmm. Curious."

"I thought this was just a ruined terran building?" Tali pulled another huge hunk of earth free and revealing a section of what looked like some kind of paneling.

"Most terran buildings do not feature psychoactive telemetric arrays." Xen brought her face closer to the screen. "Hmm. And here I thought this planet was going to be dull. I am beginning to wonder if your Coats selected this site on purpose. Does the structure look familiar to you?"

"No." Tali stared at what was visible of the building with confusion. It resembled nothing so much as some kind of radio station, from what she could see, and she was quite familiar with terran architecture as a whole.

"It would appear to be a psi disrupter, something that would have been quite helpful when this planet fell," said Xen in conversational tones. "As I understand it, one of these did prove critical at winning Thessia, but the only group who knows how to make it … well, your friend Duran is one of their members. Do you remember what a disrupter does?"

 _Disrupts zerg command and control._ Tali stared down at the vast ruin before her. _Well, if Cerberus already knows how to make these, it's not nearly as useful as it would have been about two weeks ago. But … on the other hand, the UED doesn't have these. And we have a vested interest in making sure they don't get one._

"Any ideas on fooling our oh-so trusted allies?" asked Xen with an almost mocking tone. "It would be an easy thing to disassemble the building and ship the parts somewhere safe … but what cunning excuse will Tali'Zorah vas Shakruas use to befuddle the humans and their dogs?"

"Coats, I've gotten a look at this building." Tali glanced at Xen, who seemed taken aback by the immediacy with which Tali tackled the problem. "Nothing worthwhile. I'm going to recommend disassembly and providing the raw materials to the geth, as compensation for their efforts here."

"That the expert opinion?" Coats didn't sound remotely interested. "Alright. Need a few more SCVs sent over there?"

"That would be appreciated." Tali switched off the channel and stared directly at Xen. "Get on the QEC and ask my Father if the relay near Shakuras is active. Quickly, if we want to pull this off!"

Xen paused as if to make a witty retort before simply complying, her feed switching off. Tali continued her work unearthing the structure buried below, heart hammering all the while. _Will this work?_

"Tali?" Her father's voice, emitting from her wrist. She tapped the khaydarin crystal embedded in her omnitool and stared into it. A faint blue silhouette of her father stared back. "Does everything go well? What is our new home like?"

"We are … well underway, and Tarsonis is beautiful." Her father nodded at her words, sad at losing Rannoch, yet also satisfied. "This is important – is the Shakuras relay active?"

"We are forbidden from going near the relay, we have-"

"I swear, this is worth the risk." Tali brought her face closer to her father's. "There might be a traitor embedded in the higher ranks of the protoss. This will give us a better idea of who."

"Dora'Haan! Run a sector sweep for eezo! You know where." He turned back to his daughter. "Have you found a good spot for a house, yet? I promised you one on Rannoch, I remember. So … busy, back then. I intend to make it up to you."

"No more martial law," teased Tali, smiling down at her father and wondering what he would say if he knew about the geth here. _Well, he'll find out eventually. Hopefully Prazza or someone will scavenge something useful from a Prime and make it up to him._

Her father's head snapped to his left, and then he made a confused tutting sound. "Hmm. It's active. That's … that's not a problem is it? We have visual confirmation as well as the necessary readings, there is no denying that … that the relay is open. Where it leads, however, who can say? Should we inform the Hierarch? The Matriarch?"

"Inform no one," said Tali, feeling bizarrely as if she were betraying her father. "I will pass this along. Thank you. I will see you soon."

"This is very odd," mumbled Rael'Zorah, but he nevertheless offered his own goodbye and faded from sight. Tali sighed, shaking her head and bracing herself for the final deal to be made today.

"Creator Zorah?" Legion's Prime body now possessed splashes of crimson all along its right side, and deep rents could be seen in its side. "Hostilities are not yet concluded. What is-"

"I'm going to be sending you this disassembled building," said Tali quickly, tapping in the coordinates and showing Legion the live footage. "Deposit it here, in deep space, discreetly. We'll pick it up. It's critical it does not fall into UED hands."

"What use do creators have for a psi disrupter?" Tali's heart skipped a beat at Legion's easy recognition of what it saw.

"The Shakuras relay is active," continued Tali breathlessly, "and it's less about having the psi disrupter and more about the UED not even being aware of its presence, although we could still use it for research. I promise you, this will not come back to hurt either of our peoples."

"Shakuras relay is active." Legion whirred and clanked. "The investigations continue. We thank you for this data, and will comply with creator request."

Something enormous stepped behind Tali, making her swivel in first her seat and then her SCV. Standing high above her, the unmistakable silhouette of a protoss colossus blocked what was left of the fading light, casting a mighty shadow over her cockpit. Legion's Prime body faded.

"This is to be both assistance and a demonstration of geth evolution," said Legion's voice from the protoss war machine. "The geth now freely interface with protoss machines. Some claim to have felt the Khala, the myriad minds within the protoss gestalt. We are pleased that Creator Zorah has been honest with us." Tali stared slack-jawed at the colossus, at Legion, at the steadily increasingly hopeless prospect of ever seeing Rannoch freed of geth.

Xen laughed at the sight of the protoss/geth colossus, her feed reappearing without warning, but there was a hysterical edge to it.

"Artanis-Hierarch, does this unit have a soul?" asked Xen, imitating the monotone of Legion's voice before swapping to a rolling protoss basso. "The Daelaam cannot say for certain – so we will have to give you one."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Alexei**

 **A/N: Roughly twenty chapters remaining.**


	45. Mea Culpa

**Alexei**

Part of Alexei regretted what he had probably done to Anderson. In the man he saw a kindred spirit, and releasing the insane footage caught by his headcam during the krogan death rite would create in him the kind of legend that would never know a moment's peace from the troops for as long as he served. Wherever Alexei looked now, he could see sailors and marines alike staring at their omnitools, the same familiar battle footage playing on it. During sparring sessions, he had it on good authority that a certain stock English footballer's phrase had increased sharply in popularity. _But it needed to be done. The rabble need someone to rally around, now that Gerard is … no longer with us._

"And you thought we would not get much use out of this, my old friend." Gerard had protested the capital ship of each fleet possessing a Normandy QEC when they had first been installed, mostly due to the obscene price tag attached, coupled with the uncertainty of how effective the modified Valkyrie would ultimately be. The vindication Alexei might have felt over pushing for its installation at this moment nevertheless did not make up for the sense of loss. _I've started talking to myself lately. It would be foolish to ignore this._

The QEC blinked several times, making Alexei sigh and brace himself. There was no telling how Anderson would receive the news and orders, but if his profile were accurate … _he's just going to ask me when we're all going to get to go home._

Alexei did not wait long, however. There was a schedule to keep, after all. He hit the button with an ungloved fist and stepped forward into the ensuing commotion of light, pressing a hand against his hat to reposition it more firmly upon his head. Making a mental note not to express shock at Anderson's appearance, regardless of how grievous his injuries might be, Alexei smiled at his most reliable officer.

Tight bandages wrapped around sections of Captain Anderson's face, covering the right side of his jaw. He stood unassisted, but the way he stood indicated a greater amount of weight on the left leg than the right. Whatever other wounds he might have born were not readily apparent without seeing the man naked, but Alexei recognized physical discomfort and pain in a man's eyes when he saw it. _He is in much better shape than I expected._

"Captain Anderson," said Alexei, inclining the brim of his cap while the man saluted, "I am told – and have indeed seen – that you have successfully ingratiated the UED with one of the more prominent krogan clans. Our science and medical teams are now groundside, and Urdnot Wrex can begin the integration of the rest of the krogan race." Alexei smiled. "Once again, the mighty task set before you has been accomplished with speed and ease. You have my gratitude, as well as the gratitude of all humanity."

"Thank you, Admiral." Captain Anderson lowered his hand but did not meet Alexei's gaze.

"I have shared your headcam footage with the rest of the fleet, something I sense you are already aware of." Alexei let the smile fade, trying to inject genuine sympathy into his tone. "Years ago, I saved Gerard DuGalle's life at severe cost to myself. The media circus enjoyed using the phrase "Get on with it," at every possible opportunity, and it took a considerable amount of effort and time on my part to get that phrase to fade from the public consciousness. Believe me when I say I can understand any personal discomfort you might feel in reliving those minutes in which you were swallowed. I assure you it is for a greater purpose."

"Sir?" Anderson still did not look directly at him.

Alexei tilted his head and stared at the man, trying to anticipate the reaction he was about to receive. "The men and women of the United Earth Directorate need heroes to look up to, colonials and terrestrials both. Your actions were very positively received by even the likes of General Warfield. There was something reassuring to him, I think, to know that the veins of all Earthborne are not filled with ice."

Anderson did not respond, but his features did soften slightly.

"You are used to being used as a media icon for your actions on Luna, something I know you resented even if … even if Gerard did not." _That was harder to say than I expected._ Alexei looked away himself for a moment, taking a sharp breath. "Nevertheless, someone of your expertise and will should be lauded for their actions, and the toll these battles have taken on your body must be recognized. For that reason, I am promoting you to Rear Admiral, upper-half before you ask. I will also be awarding you another Crux de Valor, although that will take some time to process."

Anderson's head turned sharply, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

"I do not intend to keep sending you out on these ground-based objectives until one day you do not come back, Rear Admiral." Alexei folded his arms behind himself. "You have already proven yourself willing to sacrifice your body if need be, and you are familiar with the command of starships. I am reassigning you to rendezvous at the Citadel – the protoss require us to send off a portion of our fleets as part of the CDF." Alexei chuckled. "An attempt at unity, I believe. There, you will tackle alien diplomacy and colonial PR; I have no doubt you will hate it at first, but at least you are not at risk of being eaten by zerg."

"Sir?" Anderson's face flicked rapidly between surprise, relief, and then concern. "Tuchanka requires-"

"A loyal officer of the Directorate with a strong stomach," finished Stukov. "Captain Leng is being assigned to the garrison; I will be dropping him off myself, before joining you at the Citadel."

"Leng?"Anderson's face twisted again, sparking irritation in Alexei. "Kai Leng … does not have a strong history of compromise or diplomacy. There are protoss on this planet, sir. They are the ones responsible for my own recovery. I … would not like to disappoint or anger them. The experiments we plan on doing…"

"Invite the protoss into the facilities." Rear Admiral Anderson stared at Alexei as if he were mad. "Before the true tests begin, mind. Invite them in, explain to them that we are attempting to cure the Genophage in preparation for the end, and that sacrifices must be made. Explain that the people brought in are criminals and lowlifes from the Terminus, and that they will be treated with dignity even such."

"I … I have seen the tools, sir. And Okeer is-"

"The protoss do not think as we do, Rear Admiral," snapped Alexei, inwardly applauding himself for taking Anderson off Tuchanka. _Too much time on that_ Normandy _, cavorting with aliens and the rebel captain. Some time spent in command of a UED task group should help reaffirm what is at stake here._ "They are fixated on the bigger picture to the exclusion of all else. They believe us beneath them. If we try to hide our actions, they will take offense. Conversely, if we try to keep them informed, they only grow bored. Do the protoss stationed on Tuchanka seem like moralizing scientists, Rear Admiral, or the aloof warriors the galaxy universally knows them as?"

Anderson's bearing was now impressively stiff, his arms locked at his sides while the visible side of his jaw clenched noticeably.

"Aloof warriors, sir."

"Follow my instructions and assign someone suitably charismatic as tour guide before you leave." Alexei could not help but clench his own teeth, slightly disappointed at Anderson's continued hesitance and resistance. "Rear Admiral, you may speak freely, you have more than earned it. Do your wounds trouble you?"

"Stage three, sir." Alexei shut his eyes at Anderson's words, his heart slowing as he held his breath. "All humans will suffer until we can establish some kind of lifeline with Earth. The colonials require finer treatment than they could expect at the hands of military personnel, and that treatment will only worsen as the months drag on." Anderson bowed his head I understand that our deployment will likely be extended past the expected eight months thanks to the Reapers, but preparations should have been made by now. We did not come out here with any expectation of joining the colonials as permanent residents, Admiral."

 _I was mistaken. He is already aware of what is at stake._ _And I am not truly dealing with a kindred spirit … he reminds me more of Gerard. Fitting, really._

"There have been delays that only I need to be privy to, Rear Admiral." Alexei did his best to look into David's brown eyes without making it seem forced. "The plight of our Armada has not escaped me. I will enact Phase Three once things are more … certain." _The Reapers cannot follow us. The protoss cannot follow us._ "Does anyone wait for you back home, Rear Admiral?"

"Yes, sir." Nothing more was forthcoming. Nothing further really needed to be said, however.

"Then I give you my word that the minute it becomes possible, I will arrange a homecoming." Alexei smiled sadly. _And what a homecoming it will be._ "I will do everything in my power to bring you all home."

"Thank you, sir." Anderson saluted. It seemed genuine enough. "I will see you at the Citadel?"

"You will indeed." Alexei tipped his cap once more. "Fine shooting, Rear Admiral. I am watching your career with great interest, as is the rest of the galaxy now, I'm afraid. You have not managed to disappoint so far. I'm not certain you are capable."

"Thank you, sir." Anderson was avoiding eye contact again.

"You are quite welcome. Stukov out." The QEC deactivated automatically at Alexei's words, making him heave a deep breath. _Phase three … it has to happen. I might remain out here indefinitely, I have no objection to doing so, but the rest of them …_ Alexei shivered. _Gerard might have been able to convince the common soldiers and lower officers to make such sacrifices for the sake of humanity. I do not possess that gift. Still. Forward._

"EDI! Any updates?" Alexei began his march back to the bridge, where doubtless another few hours of empty waiting beckoned. "We are certain that the location of this vessel has been leaked on the most likely channels?"

"The "derelict" zerg infested vessel is still in place, Admiral." Alexei paused for a moment to stare at the ceiling. Every day his reliance on and suspicion of this machine grew. _What will it do if I ever violate its primary directive, intentionally or not? Will Anderson and company still have the presence of mind and capability to stop it? Will anyone?_ "While it is unclear to what extent the Reapers are watching us, several colonial channels were believed compromised following the post battle reports of Augustgrad. If there is no further Collector activity, those channels may be safer than we thought."

 _Or the Reapers see through our bluff._ Alexei rubbed the wiry hair on his chin. _I certainly cannot waste much more time out here._

The entire ship felt deathly quiet, as if the crew had all put themselves back in stasis. The humming of the ventilation was the only sound aside from Alexei's own footsteps and slightly labored breathing, and only a single sailor crossed his path on the way to the bridge. Ordinarily Alexei would welcome such an unusual quiet, but the nature of the foe they sought to lure in filled him with a strange unease.

Emerging on to the bridge proved an uncommon relief. Countless ensigns and technicians murmured to each other from their positions, fingers dancing across the bright yellow haptic keyboards. The captain stared down at all of them with a furrowed brow and nary a word, her arms placed behind her back while she waited patiently for an enemy that might never come.

At Alexei's prior request, no one bothered to note the presence of an admiral on deck and rise. He simply nonverbally acknowledged the captain before joining her at her position on the CIC, gazing upon the glowing display that betrayed the vast emptiness around them, as well as the handful of awkward vessels forged on a far distant world that dared to brave it. The "derelict" lingered on the edge of the screen, supposedly crawling with zerg. _Why would the Collectors, if they are truly listening, doubt that humans have yet again meddled with beings far beyond them and paid the price for it?_

"Sir, these new devices…" The captain's voice did not break a whisper, as if the volume of the people inside the ship would make the slightest bit of difference in overall detectability. "…you are certain they will have the desired effect?"

"The autopsies and tests bear that out." It had been no easy thing to locate a pair of ghost twins, brother and sister, noted to possess a special link between them. "Unique," both Warfield and Schrader had called it. _Able to link minds and share thoughts, memories, and feelings … so very reminiscent of the protoss's Khala, of what we suspect the Collectors likewise possess, based on combat data and observed biology._

What they had done to those twins did not bear repeating. Suffice to say, pain and neural feedback transmitted over such psionic links absurdly well, surpassing expectations to the point that no one left the testing room without feeling obscene nausea. Not even Alexei.

 _Nothing is unique. Nothing is sacred. They did not suffer long, and we got what we wanted. Their sacrifice will let us wage war on heaven itself…_ his ungloved fingers flexed and unflexed, the back of his throat feeling so dry all of a sudden.

The minutes dragged on, turned to an hour once again. No responses, no signals, not even a hint of the Collectors having heard them. For others, the dread might perhaps have turned to frustration or complacence, but for Alexei, an invisible foe, a foe composed of smoke, frightened him far more than any tangible horror he might encounter. And truthfully, there was no means of determining whether the absence of the insectoid bastards was due to the security of their own communications, or because they saw through an obvious ploy…

A flicker of motion towards the helm, slightly raised voices with an undercurrent of excitement. Alexei watched with interest, fingers steepled, wondering if this was indeed the moment they were waiting for. After a false start created by an overactive imagination three days ago, it was not much of a struggle for Alexei to remain calm, at least. He waited for the captain to receive the update to her own display.

The glowing interface flickered briefly before changing, a massive glowing energy spike almost directly on top of the derelict. Before Alexei could even open his mouth the captain was requesting comparisons to all known existing ship patterns, making him nod in satisfaction. _What a feeling, to know you are surrounded by actual competence. I will do my best to make sure Corbyn gets her people back in one piece._

"Matched only with the vessels we engaged on Korhal," said the captain after only a few moments, tapping her own haptic screen and angling it towards Alexei, revealing the matched signatures. "Might even be one of the same. Engage?"

"Do not give them the chance to slip away. They are likely scanning and will see us in a matter of moments." Alexei raised a clenched fist. "EDI, order both science vessels to empty EMP missiles into the vessel. All battlecruisers, prep Yamatos and close distance." He nodded to the captain and stepped back. "All yours."

"Engage Moebius reactor and keep pace with the science vessels." The captain folded her arms. "Prep for emergency jump to close range if that cruiser fires on any of us. Check – are portside laser batteries fully operational and manned?"

"Check."

"If we jump, hard to starboard and blast away." The captain glanced momentarily at Alexei, as if tacitly seeking approval. _Enough self-awareness to realize it is unnecessary, though. Good. I would speak up if she gave a boneheaded order. Quietly, though. This is her ship…_

"They don't seem to have noticed us." The captain tapped the screen and zoomed in on the ship outline. "Sir, look at this outline. Weapon built into the front, sure, I can see that. But where are the sensors and comms? It looks like someone strapped an engine to a giant insect hive and just jammed a gun in the front of it."

"They need lessons in aesthetics from the zerg, clearly." Alexei shrugged. "So long as it blows up all the same, there should be no problem."

"EMPs are away!" Alexei winced at the sudden shout, but it was an unthinking reaction. The time for stealth had just ended … _and shouting makes no difference in the first place. Keep your wits about you._

The screen flickered again. The brightness of the energy source faded noticeably, its systems forcibly shut down.

"Yamatos!" called out Alexei, watching the UED's own vessels inch closer to the Collector ship, which even now turned to face its foes. "First three vessels! Fire!"

Alexei wished he could see the splendid guns fire almost in unison at the Collector ship. Nuclear energy harnessed and then released in a controlled and yet nearly unstoppable reaction … _for years it has proven the equalizer for the colonials against Council dreadnoughts. With good reason._

"Verified impacts." The captain clucked her tongue in irritation. "Rescan! I'm seeing no damage."

Alexei's head snapped over to the displays, hoping that this was indeed a fluke and not a call to release further Yamatos. After a few tense seconds, the display changed again.

"Disabled, at least as far as we can tell. Engines went dead." The blazing yellow/orange of the Collector vessel signature was now little more than a faint amber outline. "Weapons inactive, otherwise the _Nelson_ would be sending us damage reports. We're not in range for life signs yet, sir."

"Send in the marines. We'll get our life signs firsthand." Alexei folded his arms and watched the steady progress of the UED battlecruisers, forty of them converging on a single point, their own Yamatos prepped for launch at a moment's notice.

The silence descended once more as everyone kept a close eye on the readings for the slightest display of activity from the opposition. Alexei did his best to contain his own inward trepidation, trying instead to douse the fires of anxiety with pride in himself and his people, pride that his ploy seemed to have worked.

The battlecruisers paused one by one within boarding distance of the Collector ship, which dwarfed any one of them easily. Alexei gritted his teeth. _Will we ever sit outside a derelict Reaper like this, preparing to send in teams to scour the craft of its secrets? Will the teams then feel the same way I feel now?_

"Shuttles are being dispatched, Admiral." Alexei stared up at the ceiling for a moment before reacting to EDI, heartrate slowing.

"Link me the visual feed from the helmets, EDI. From the Culexus squads."

Alexei tipped the brim of his hat in the captain's direction before leaving the hushed bridge behind for the conference room to the right of the CIC. _Today it is not being used for any conference, however._

The enormous screen blared from the darkness as Alexei entered the room, displaying footage as jerky as it was grainy, the first initial and last names of each of the marines attached to the experimental anti-psionic devices. No less than forty-eight twitching squares of anxious marine camera stood before Alexei, glorious to conceive of, headache inducing to actually watch.

"Cut to just the squad leaders, EDI, and swap the names for their call signs." Forty-eight screens became a much more manageable four, and Alexei flicked his gaze between each screen, trying to orient himself. _It's only going to become worse when they board._ "Status report on the marines unattached to the Culexus devices?"

"They are in the process of boarding, Admiral. I will notify you of any disruptions."

 _Eight hundred UED marines. Earthborn, irreplaceable. This cannot go wrong._ Clanking sounds and a killed engine filled three of the four screens, and the marines stood from their seats, the camera rising up. Barked orders issued from the squad leaders, their commands growing confused as they blended in the small conference room. The footage shook and shifted as they double-timed it out of their respective crafts, Alpha and Charlie squads almost in synch. Lumbering behind them on a small hover dolly, the Culexus device looked undeniably ridiculous in the midst of the marines and their kit. Nevertheless, Alexei did not hear any disparaging comments being made from any of the troops.

"Uh, we've made the breach." Alpha Squad's audio, reporting directly to Alexei. The squad leader's head swiveled away from the shuttle and revealed the strange interior of the ship. "Uh, looks like the interior of a terrestrial insect hive. Seeing irregular holes in the walls, reminiscent of honeycomb … or a wasp's nest."

The others went ahead with the order to advance while Alpha One, voice calm and collected despite the frequent verbal stumbles. Alexei tried to watch each screen as if this were only some kind of exploratory exercise, rather than the worst part of a horror film. His brain was not all the way convinced.

"Lots of running blue wires, uh, running into walls and across the floor. No clear function. Just power, I guess?" Several marines advanced ahead of Alpha One down a dark corridor lit only by the lights mounted on their rifles. The walls did indeed resemble an insect hive, assuming said insects were hideous cyborgs. The insides of each hole in the wall ran with glowing blue circuitry, and while Alexei assigned the term "corridor" to what the marines currently traversed, the lack of clear sight lines and strangely curved shape of the walls made it more like some kind of burrowed tunnel.

"No sign of life. Checking in with other squads … no sign of life as of yet. Power, uh, power seems to be on some kind of backup or emergency generator? Low amount of light, but life support systems are functioning."

Each step the marines took was marked by a tinny sounding squelch from the audio, and the heavy breathing of Alpha's squad leader. Muting the audio of the other squads might have decreased the noise confusion, but it added an unfortunate edge to the immersion. _Brave men and women, doing this._

"Uh, strange pods on the walls and ceiling." Alexei's gaze shifted from Charlie's screen back to Alpha's, whose flashlights now danced across said walls and ceiling. Fleshy pointed ovals interlaced with electronic webbing glowed back at the pointed flashlights, shining both a mixture of faint blue and dark yellow. Alexei thought he saw one twitch. "Uh, no life or heat signs from pods … seem to have wiring running into them. Look like eggs, but impossible to be sure." Alpha One glanced back at the Culexus momentarily, as if to reassure himself.

Alexei watched the other three screens and shuddered as they discovered pods of their own, decorating the walls and ceiling in the hundreds. _Suddenly, I find myself wishing we had brought some turians with us. They would have kept their mouths shut to the protoss, and their discipline would have been welcome. A … a dark day, that I would think that._

"EDI, are there any life signs aboard this ship? Where are the crew?" Alexei could not tear his gaze away from the screens, even as the animal parts of his brain begged him to do so.

"Readings are disrupted, Admiral, but the hull does register significant damage from our Yamato guns. I cannot say where the crew might be."

"Got some movement here." Alpha One's voice did not change, but the footage suddenly became much less jerky as he stood and took aim. "Uh, hearing some kind of chittering. Motion sensors registering targets up ahead. Permission to activate Culexus?"

"Granted. All squads may access Culexus. EDI, relay that order."

The cameras turned to the crystal suspended inside a heavy cube, riddled with wiring. The footage became slightly grainier as the device activated.

"Damn thing gives me a headache!" One of the marines, a woman, taking a few steps away from the shimmering crystal.

"Cut the chatter, advance." Alpha One's hand briefly waved past the camera, motioning his people forward. On the other three screens, the rest of the leaders activated their bombs. Alexei shifted through their audio to hear similar hushed complaints.

"Linking up with sixth group, passages converge ahead. No further sign of movement." Alpha's passageway sloped upward, the ramp resembling something a bunch of giant termites might have made to access higher elevation, rather than fellow sapients. Other lights flashed through the frame, leading to a quiet and joyless reunion as the two squads converged and advanced through a larger section of tunnel.

"EDI – no squads have made contact?" Alexei shook his head at EDI's confirmation. _This is wrong. I should pull them out._ "All squads, opfor behavior is consistent with preparing an ambush. I am sure I do not need to tell you this, but please note that I am quite aware of what you are experiencing. Remain aware of where you are relative to the exfil points."

A chorus of "copy that" echoed through the conference room. _With any luck, that should reassure a few of them._ The marines continued advancing, voices hushed, mindful of any potential threats that might materialize. _At this rate, I suspect the things we are imagining would easily be worse than the actual Collectors._

"Motion again. Looks like a big chamber ahead." Alexei stared down the available line of vision. Dim yellow light did indeed shine from beyond, a lip of the … rock that made up the craft. Alpha One and its fellow squad advanced cautiously, revealing a vast cavernous expanse that filled Alexei with as much horror as it did awe.

"Uh, massive insect hive." Pods and irregular crevices dotted the entirety of the ship's interior. All around them, above, behind, and ahead, the horrible pods or eggs or … whatever they were, protruded from the surface of the craft's interior like malformed teeth. Honeycombed throughout were the small holes they had seen throughout the craft, and the way the room was shaped was just wrong, all wrong.

Alexei had worked with starships all his life. Some doors within a ship might be rounded, some might be square, but always they worked with a certain economy of resources and efficiency in mind. Ships were straight lines and straightforward, manufactured to spec with the goal of letting crew live as comfortably as was feasible on board what was, to be blunt, a massive tin can with some guns and engines strapped to it, floating through an incomprehensibly tremendous void.

Even what Alexei had seen of protoss ships had fit the mold of what was to be expected. The protoss took pride in their craftsmanship, clearly, and strove to produce vessels that were as much works of art as they were machines of war, but there was still a consistency and clarity to their design. Protoss were still clearly intended to live and work within. There were still clearly manufacturing specs being followed.

This … ship … was what Alexei would expect sentient spacefaring termites to produce. It looked as if it had been fashioned roughly from the earth, with no mind for the beings that would live within. Everything looked rounded and molded, rather than forged and constructed, and the main material of the craft was a dull brown substance that reminded Alexei vividly of shit. Even this vast open expanse within the vessel conjured only horror within his core; the space might have been open, but the sight lines remained off-kilter and all jumbled, and the soft yellow lighting within looked dingy and somehow filthy.

There was no visible rhyme or reason to this vessel that Alexei could understand. Turians, yes, their ships were easy to comprehend. Straightforward and robust, like the people themselves. Protoss, yes, their ships were ornate and oversized, as could be expected by a race as powerful as the protoss. Asari … their vessels were a tad beyond Alexei in terms of design, but at least their interiors, from what he was given to understand, were sumptuous and comfortable. But this…

"This is a flying mound of shit," said Alexei. "The Reapers or the Collectors or whomever, took the cheapest materials possible to make a ship, slammed the most advanced technology possible on to it, and then fucked off before considering any degree of livability. Are the Collectors insane? Living here would surely drive them to the brink, sooner or later." _What the fuck kind of mind creates something like this? Even the zerg made use of symmetry - to a great extent in fact._

"Movement!" Alexei's breathing sharpened as the chatter of gunfire broke through his monitors. "All over! They're crawling all over!"

"Fall back out of the central chamber." Alexei took a step closer to the monitors. "Pin them in the corridors. EDI, relay the order."

The troops were already doing just that, however. Shadowy figures with iridescent wings emerged out of every available crevice and pod, buzzing madly about the massive chamber, many of them making a beeline for where the two squads were positioned. Alexei could only imagine what their motion sensors looked like.

With the Culexus scooting behind them, the marines fell back from the nightmarish expanse of empty space, only to hear howls from inside the tunnels.

"Both sides! Bad guys on both sides!"

Light flashed from the muzzles of the marines' guns, and Alexei got a good look at the opposition; six and a half feet tall, mounted on spindly legs, four malevolent yellow eyes glowing from an otherwise featureless face.

Even the weapons of the things looked wrong, resembling nothing so much as tiny mouths that shot teeth, their surfaces far too much smooth and covered with … insect hair … that made the bile rise in Alexei's throat.

These were the smaller ones. As the marines yelled and ran back and forth, taking up positions closer to their medics and applying stims, larger creatures emerged from the shadows. _CMC suits?_ The people within the suits, however, were not human. Not anymore. Thick blue wires sprouted from their armor and ran into their necks and head, breaking through the visors and revealing the emaciated and near-robotic faces underneath. When the creatures screamed at Alpha Squad, it was to reveal the glowing backs of their throats. _A future for humanity under the Reapers, perhaps?_

Some Collectors bore power armor and much larger weaponry that spat armor-melting beams. Two marines died before Alpha One, prompting them to divert firepower to these monsters, whose own electronic chittering reverberated at a bone-chilling bass, their intention clear. Grenades rained down from the corrupted terran marines while the Collectors pushed in on both sides, heedless of the losses, intent only on bringing their enemies down.

"Boarding parties reporting massive loss of life, Admiral." EDI's interjections had never been less welcome. "Shall we reinforce?"

"All Culexus teams – use the Culexus!" Alexei pointed at the dolly next to Delta One, even though it was an impossibility that this would in any way affect anything.

"Range on the device is shit!" Alpha One grunted as he took a round to the shoulder, hastily giving a thumbs up to the medic before resuming fire. He sidestepped to his left and positioned himself behind the dolly. "It's not fucking doing anything!"

To Alexei's outrage, the marine kicked the dolly and sent it flying, device still atop it, down the passageway and towards the entrenched enemy position. At first, nothing happened as the dolly careened into a horrid shit-wall and just sat there. Then, without warning, the chittering turned to screams. A Collector, eight feet tall in his power armor, weapon thrown aside, stumbled into the open, clutching its head in agony. Without warning, its eyes burst as one, yellow spraying from its ruined sockets. The creature fell lifelessly to the ground.

The effect proved contagious. The gunfire from behind the marines vanished in a cacophony of shrieks and the sounds of muffled bursts, and the opposition before them had already vanished entirely. The other three team leaders revealed similar screens, and linking to their audio exposed Alexei to sounds of astonishment and relief from the team leaders.

"Uh, range is an issue, but Culexus device appears effective, extremely effective." _And this bodes very well for future protoss relations._ "Uh, hearing a loud roaring." Alexei's eyes narrowed. "Ground is shaking!"

" **Samples acquired."** A voice, the same deep yet distinctly feminine voice Alexei had heard over radio on Korhal. The video distorted on Alpha's feed, preventing Alexei from seeing anything. **"Such weapons … you utter fools."**

"Admiral, the Collector vessel has just activated its engines." Alexei glanced sharply at the ceiling, heart threatening to tear free from his ribcage. "Admiral – the vessel is preparing to-"

"Jump." All four screens abruptly cut out, and from the room beyond Alexei could hear yells and screams. _Of course. Why would we expect them to have the same standards of tech as the rest of us?_ Alexei stared at the static of all four screams, the cold settling in his chest, at the back of his neck. "They didn't come here for zerg specimens."

The captain burst in, hair wild, cap askew. "Admiral, the Collector ship has-"

"Jumped." Alexei's shoulders slumped. _Another eight hundred sons and daughters of Earth, gone. Another eight hundred families, made unwhole._ He stared at his hands. _Yes, call for the Collectors, the servants of the Reapers, and do not request protoss aid. It cannot go wrong. It cannot go wrong._ "Is there … is there any means of tracing where they have gone?"

From the whiteness of the captain's face, Alexei could already guess the answer, although she nevertheless dutifully rushed back to the CIC. Alexei, nodding to himself quietly, sat down, still staring at the endless static on the screens. _A … schedule to keep. Tuchanka and then the Citadel. Forward, always forward. This is only a setback, however tragic it might be. It is … a lesson, one worth remembering. We have an anti-protoss weapon, that much is basically confirmed. The Reapers are monitoring us, confirmed._

"A flying mound of shit. Outrun and outsmarted by aliens flying a giant mound of shit."

Alexei's hands shook as he reached in his coat and pulled out the lighter and cigar. Trying not to contemplate just what the men and women still trapped on board that vessel might be seeing and experiencing. _And we abandoned colonials to this?_

Alexei mentally began preparing what kind of explanation he would be offering Admiral Corbyn when he returned his ships to her, sans eight hundred of its best marines. _There are no words good enough. Not even Gerard could … damn it!_

The static from the screens winked out just as he lit his lighter, a lone vibrant flame facing a darkness immeasurably larger than itself. Squinting, Alexei lit his cigar regardless, and then hurled the lighter full force with a sudden outburst of frustration and rage, the monitors showering the ground with sparks which faded as quickly as they had appeared.

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Wrex**


	46. Ascend, then Descend

**Wrex**

The now vacant throne awaited Wrex at the highest point in the camp, the banners of Clan Urdnot swaying in the gentle nuclear breeze. Grunt and the Shaman flanked him on either side, the former still proudly bearing the numerous rents and burns that decorated his armor. When the Shaman looked to Wrex, he caught a glimmer of recognition in the younger krogan's eyes, as well as something that might have been approval.

"I assume you are still krogan enough to remember how this works?" The Shaman gestured to the waiting throne with a bare hand, his own ragged robes shifting with the light wind. "Or … do you need the humans to direct your ascension?"

"Heh." Wrex twisted his head, hearing the bones crack and feeling the aches and pains from Korhal flare up yet again. "Don't ever stop giving me honest critiques, boy. It … has been a long time." Wrex took a heavy step forward, body heaving with an enormous sigh. "But I remember the Rite of Ascension well enough."

The warriors of Clan Urdnot gathered before the makeshift throne, their red eyes scanning their new leader as he made the physical ascension to the throne. Each bore a weapon in their arms; the ones in power armor carried heavy gauss rifles, while the ones without carried a mix of shotguns and high powered rifles. The air felt rife with tension, and the sounds of various clicks and clanks filled the air as Wrex stepped before his people.

Wreav stood at a place of honor near the front, a gesture meant to be an outward compliment and a private insult. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the humans Wrex had brought with him, Shepard at one side, Jenkins on the other. His own personal guard and krannt were scattered throughout the audience or absent entirely, having been assigned new positions guarding the fresh terran camps that now dotted the landscape. _You will be most honored, brother … and more importantly, you will be completely toothless._

Wrex stared briefly at the throne before proceeding to the very edge of the raised platform. Light filtered in from the gaps in the highway above, revealing just how thick the dust in the air was. _No wonder the terrans prefer to keep their visors down, with their fragile lungs._ They were up now, though. Shepard looked up at Wrex with wide eyes, while Jenkins gave Wrex a quick thumbs up before checking if Williams had noticed him. But these were but momentary distractions. Stretched far across the camp, almost as far as the eye could see, Wrex's people waited for the words that would mark him as their new leader. The warriors shifted in place, grunting, staring with indiscernible expressions.

"I can see into your hearts and minds, Clan Urdnot," began Wrex, directing his vision towards the horizon, staring up and over the crowd rather than directly at them. "I can see your doubts, and your frustrations. I can see your concern over my regard for the Old Ways, and whether my wanderings have truly polluted my krogan spirit, turned me into something Other, some half-breed that wears the body of the krogan but thinks as … something else. Terran. Asari. Salarian, maybe."

A few warriors further back nodded to themselves, while others just glared. Those closest to Wrex, the people Wrex had either deemed most honored or most troublesome, did not react visibly, although Wreav's eyes narrowed slightly at Wrex's words.

"I have brought aliens to Tuchanka, aliens determined to bring great works of science and industry. Their command centers descended from the smog-choked skies at my order, the Earthborn warriors striding through the wastes with the kind of unearned audacity we would expect of those not of this land. And here comes Urdnot Wrex, swaggering to the throne, carrying scars earned on distant worlds rather than fighting for clan and krannt. What right do I have to stand here in place of any of you?"

Mutterings rose up from the crowd, dark and brooding. Wreav looked almost poised to take action, his head lowered, legs slightly trembling as if resisting the urge to rush forward. Two protoss warriors, standing as discreetly as possible to the far right of the crowd, close to the hospital, looked to one another and took a step forward, as if frightened of a riot breaking out. _No … I would know if that were the case._

"Indeed, what right do I, Urdnot Wrex, veteran of a thousand bloody campaigns across the galaxy, have the right to lead a clan hunkered down in the middle of a radioactive wasteland?" he boomed, his words shaking dust from the ceiling, quieting the crowd as suddenly as they had become restless. "What right do I, Urdnot Wrex, whose champion and krannt completed a deadly Rite as easily as one of you would sneeze, have to lead a clan whose glory days have long faded, who loses ground to Clans Gatatog and Weyrloc by the day?" Silence from the crowd, beautiful silence. "What right do I, Urdnot Wrex, who has come to this planet bearing allies who might yet cure us of the horrific Genophage, have to try and claim dominion over the totality of the krogan peoples, scattered and broken as they are?"

Krogan muttered to one another and shifted on their feet. They stared at the ragged banners bearing their symbol, at the ruin of their homeworld, and most of all, at Wrex himself. And Wrex knew, as he had always known, that buried deep beneath that krogan stubbornness and pride, there was a yearning not only for an actual future, but for more simple things. Better food. A female camp that they knew for certain was secure. A warmer planet. _Things they want that they would never confess to aliens. But I know. Why do they think I left?_

Grunt stared with a slightly open mouth, his eyes trained on Wrex, drinking it in. The Shaman gave the slightest nod of approval, likely visible to only Wrex himself. And far off to the side, the protoss relaxed, their arms lowering, their long legs taking them a few steps backwards.

"Do you think that you have more than a right than I, whose allies have proven themselves warriors beyond all doubt, despite being aliens?" Wrex grinned his widest and most terrible grin, bearing his massive teeth to his prospective followers, his head sweeping left to right to get his best look at all of them, to make them know that they were all being judged. "Do any of you, truly? If you do, this is your moment. Step forward!" Wrex paused, and he wondered if Captain Anderson, the poor ragged bastard, knew what he was about to say.

"Come and have a go if you think you are hard enough!"

Krogan hooted and lifted their weapons into the air, a sea of upraised rifles and shotguns, of barrels glinting in the cool Tuchanka sun. Wrex raised his arms up and bellowed to his clan, who responded with a roar of their own, Wrex's name spilling from their lips in a great rolling cry. Wrex felt it then, an unfamiliar warmth spreading in his chest, pushed all through his body by his ragged, but still-beating hearts. _A sense of purpose. I am meant to be here, at this moment._

Wrex turned on an enormous heel and stepped before the throne. After but a moment's hesitation, he twisted and placed himself atop the ragged slab of concrete and looked out over the sea of krogan. _Where I belong. Or at least, where my grandfather felt I belonged._

The Shaman strode up the concrete ramp, a knife in hand. He stared into Wrex's eyes for a moment, teeth slightly bared. Then he stepped forward.

"Are you prepared to bleed for your Clan? To suffer while striving for Clan Urdnot's greatness?"

"I am well-versed in suffering." Wrex bared his own teeth and listed his arms from the rests. "Let the throne run red once again. Regardless of what comes, I will drag our people into glory, kicking and screaming if need be."

"So be it." The Shaman's hand blurred, and Wrex grunted as crimson liquid spurted from his right arm. Knife still bloody, the Shaman wasted no time in watching the grisly spectacle, instead swiping at the other arm, an even deeper cut. The camp roared at the display. Wrex, keeping his face still, placed his arms back on the throne and felt the hot liquid run down his arms, quickly at first, but slowing with every pulse.

"He heals quickly." The Shaman nodded with approval and turned to the rest of the camp, knife held high, red droplets running down the blade. "He is krogan! Clan Urdnot has a new leader! May Urdnot Wrex rule us with wisdom and strength – until the day we find someone wiser and stronger."

 _Not bloody likely._ The krogan of Clan Urdnot stomped and hooted, guns raised high above their heads once again, creating a great cacophony of yells that rebounded off the ceiling, creating a rolling sea of upraised weapons. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the yelling subsided. The Rite completed, the krogan scattered in every direction – some to repair tomkahs, some to hunt, others to stand guard. _Only so much time to spend on ritual after all._

Some remained. The Shaman stood by his side at his prior request; it had been many years after all, and Wrex needed to keep abreast of the new players in the clan. Wreav went nowhere of course; he no doubt had a litany of complaints and "concerns" about his brother's coming reign. And, naturally, the UED soldiers now ascended the dais, heads bowed respectively, Grunt standing awkwardly in the back.

"Do we bow?" Anderson kept a respectful distance, arm outstretched to stop the rest of the squad. "All of Earth's royalty is long gone, but I am aware that there used to be some procedure…"

"Did you see any krogan bending the knee out there?" Wrex chuckled. "Did you see any krogan bowing their head? We raise our weapons and shout in support of our leaders. They are supposed to be the strongest and wisest, as the Shaman said … but they do not command the same loyalty as your Admirals do." Wrex flexed his fingers, remembering how they had gripped the knife in the Hollows, moments before sinking it into his father's chest. _We have to drag ourselves out of this._ _These Earthers are the key to that._ "All leaders are still men. We krogan know this. If I fail to do my duty, there is no guarantee that someone will not storm the throne and slay me before the entire clan. It is to be expected. That is why they do not bow. That is why you do not need to bow."

"I see." David motioned the squad to move forward, surrounding the throne in a rough concave. "Congratulations on your … coronation."

"Hmph." Wrex shook his head. The blood no longer ran from his wrists, which now almost stuck to the throne. He pulled each free and flexed his fingers again, creating a slight surge of pain. _Korhal. It may never leave me._ "I heard you've recently been promoted as well."

"Rear Admiral." Anderson shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps it is best that I get out of field work. I'm not sure how many times I can survive being swallowed. Speaking of which…"

"No one has slain a thresher maw on their rite since my very own." Wrex looked up at David, grinning. "No one has slain an infested thresher maw on Tuchanka, period. What better way to rally the clan's support than to remind them of this?" Wrex shrugged his massive shoulders. "You may as well own up to it, Rear Admiral. You are as big a monster on the battlefield as any of us here." Wrex pointed past them, to the horizon. "At the children's camp, the young ones knock heads together and shriek your battle cry. Don't you feel proud?"

"I'm sick of being marketed just for doing my damn job." David shrugged, but then waved off whatever he was feeling, apparently wanting to move on. "Admiral Stukov will be here in a matter of hours. I trust you will be ready for him. As for us, we're needed at the Citadel." David hesitated, staring at the still wet blood on Wrex's wrists and hands, and then extended his own hand anyway.

For a moment Wrex was tempted to bite off Anderson's hand, which filled his line of vision and looked oddly tantalizing. But this was little more than animal instinct drawn out by the scent of his own blood. He stood and shook Anderson's hand as was terran (or human?) custom. David smiled awkwardly and then saluted. As Wrex sat down he retreated back down the ramp, limping slightly, Williams, Alenko, and Jenkins following him. Commander Shepard toed the dirt awkwardly, Grunt standing behind her.

"Grunt wants to come with us," she blurted out, averting eye contact. "I hope that's okay."

Wrex rose, rolling his eyes. Grunt stared up at him, defiant yet also suddenly aware of his own place in the world. Wrex shook his head.

"As a blooded male of Clan Urdnot, you need not ask permission from anyone, to do anything." Wrex snorted. "Hiding behind an alien female, whelp? If I had not seen your handiwork on Korhal and on your Rite, I would call you a coward. I traveled far from home for many centuries; what right do I have to criticize those that do likewise?"

Wrex returned to his seat with an irritable wave of the hand. "Go, but if the humans do not find you worthy enemies to fight, know that there are still many clans opposing us here."

"Hehehe." Grunt pounded his fists together. "I'll return with many war trophies – maybe take up some of the females on their breeding requests, maybe see if I can't convince Shepard to do likewise."

Shepard purpled. "Alright, that's enough out of you." She swatted Grunt across the head, making him laugh, and then turned one last time to Wrex. She bit her lip.

"Keep an eye on the facilities they set up here." Shepard averted her eyes again. "The protoss didn't have any problems with what they saw us doing … but that's going to change, isn't it? Don't … don't let them turn this into something bad."

""Them?"" Wrex leaned forward in his throne. "You don't consider yourself part of … all this?"

Shepard looked back to the tunnel entrance to the landing pad, where Grunt waited patiently.

"I've got a krogan to think of. And … no. I don't. Not really."

"You wear the uniform and heal the men." Wrex clucked his tongue and leaned back. "Still, I will bear what you said in mind when I meet your admiral."

"Not my admiral." Shepard shrugged helplessly. "Try not to get into any scrapes while I'm gone. I barely kept you in one piece on Korhal."

Shepard departed then, vanishing out of sight while tailed by Grunt. Wrex spared a moment to watch her depart, before the Shaman coughed behind him.

"Urdnot affairs now, Wrex." The Shaman cocked his head and grinned down at him. "Is there not much to do?"

"Okeer," rumbled Wrex, rising from his crumbling throne. He left the dais behind for the oddly smelling part of the camp, the area his animal brain told him to steer clear of. The odor of dust and body odor gave way to the cloying scent of sickness just barely covered up by some kind of applied conditioner or perfume. Wrex's nose wrinkled as he pushed his way through small throngs of krogan and the stench intensified. There, in the corner of the camp and well away from most prying eyes, a small fortified section of concrete had been assembled and merged to create a makeshift bunker. Wrex entered it without hesitation, even as his stomachs churned.

The natural if dusty light of Tuchanka gave way to light both harsh and artificial. All sound from without the tiny makeshift hospital faded to a background murmur, leaving Wrex with little but his breath, and the clinking of Okeer's chains.

The old krogan had never looked larger than in that hospital, his bulk dwarfing anything else in the room. The manacles fastened to his wrists were several inches thick, looking heavy enough to do damage if thrown at someone, yet his hands darted over the haptic keyboard before him with ease. Two other unconscious krogan of Clan Urdnot lay upon gurneys stained with blood; only their continued ragged breathing gave any clue that they still lived.

"Congratulations, Clan Leader." Okeer did not look up from his screen, only licking his lips and narrowing his eyes at whatever he was looking at upon the screen. "Everything is in place for the UED's inevitable betrayal – oh! I misspoke. I meant – the resurgence of the krogan." Okeer jerked his head to the side, making his neck crack. He turned away from the keyboard and glowered at Wrex.

"We're a long way from their power base, Okeer." Wrex stepped closer to him, his plate itching with the urge to ram the bastard with all his strength. "I have no intention of enacting any plans of galactic conquest if the Genophage is cured. The UED may be disappointed by that. After all, with the Genophage gone-"

"The Genophage is not the crux of our people's problems, Wrex!" snapped Okeer, gnashing his teeth. "Dependence upon aliens for all matters scientific, as well as a continual disregard for a stable culture – those are our problems. If we had dedicated our efforts to breeding, as you had proposed so long ago, our numbers would be stable." Okeer gestured at the now fading haptic keyboard. "I contacted some salarian acquaintances, ran a few numbers. The Genophage is certainly not helping our population, but "death by fellow krogan" is still by far the largest cause of our endangerment."

"You contacted salarians?" Wrex stepped closer to Okeer, nostrils flaring, bringing himself almost plate to plate with the much larger krogan. "I thought you far gone, Okeer, but I didn't think you would stoop so low…"

"Stoop?" Okeer barked with laughter. "Despite my reservations, of which there are many, I am still your best chance of curing the vaunted Genophage, but even I cannot do it alone. Fifteen years ago, a salarian task force stopped here and altered the Genophage further." Okeer shook his head while Wrex drew in a sharp breath. "I do not recognize some of these mutated sequences. The bastards sought to prevent our eventual adaptation over the Genophage. Even with all my accumulated medical data, the most key aspects of the work could only be completed by someone personally familiar with the new variant."

"So we need a salarian." Wrex spat on the ground, immediately drawing another glare from Okeer. "A salarian genius. Probably part of STG. Are you sure the UED cannot overcome this?"

"What possible knowledge could a bunch of humans from the ass end of the universe have about krogan genetics?" Okeer threw up his hands, the chains straining against his strength. "They are here to provide security, certain surgical tools, and subjects for brute force testing. The knowledge I bring and the knowledge I require both take decades of experience, the kind of experience no terran – or human, whatever – could possibly possess."

"So – what? We kidnap a STG agent?"

"And draw their attention here just in time for them to discover what the UED truly intend, and how close they are?" Okeer shook his head. "No. If you will permit me access to a deep web extranet terminal, one that can reach all corners of the galaxy, I have a few favors to call in with quite a few families throughout the galaxy – favors centuries in the making. At the very least, they might be able to point me in the right direction."

"What kind of families?"

Okeer rolled his eyes. "The Victuses and Arteriuses owe me, as do the Fedorians. Aria and Patriarch, assuming they are both still alive, owe me as well. There are others, but I would rather not compromise them." Okeer bared his teeth. "They happen to be salarian."

Wrex ground his teeth. Okeer appeared about as genuine as he possibly could be, returning Wrex's gaze with a mix of contempt and desperation, his ego fighting with his desire to do the finest work he could.

"I want you supervised while on that terminal." Okeer nodded his head once at Wrex's words, unsmiling but satisfied. "And you will be a long time dying if anything ill comes of this, Okeer."

"I could say the same of your gambit with the UED." Okeer waved Wrex off. "I would suggest preparing your own inevitable betrayal, Wrex. They already have a head start on you, but you have many hundreds of years of experience on them. I am sure you will come up with something."

Wrex left the rank stench of the small hospital behind, absentmindedly issuing an order to his captain of the guard through his omnitool on the way out. _Bite his head off if he tries anything._

The Shaman waited without, face again expressionless. Wrex finished what he was doing on his omnitool before meeting his gaze, expecting some kind of reprimand.

"I stood silently by while your brother ceded dozens of miles of territory to Clan Weyrloc through his arrogance," said the Shaman in long-suffering tones. "Fourteen youths he sent to the Rite, and fourteen youths were slain. I am well familiar with holding my tongue in the presence of the Clan Leader. But I cannot retain my silence when it comes to … _him._ "

"He won't be here long." Wrex snorted. "You know of any other krogan geneticists over a millennia old? Because I'm in the market."

"I will heed your words for now, Clan Chief." The Shaman hesitated, leaning forward suddenly as if swayed by a strong gust of wind. "There is … someone here to see you. It is most-"

"So here stands the other one. Wreav's brother."

A voice, deep yet feminine, intelligent and demanding of respect. The krogan around them ceased their quarreling and labor, their heads snapping toward that rarest of sights, a krogan female in the main camp.

Clad in robes of mixed browns, reds, and purples, the female advanced across the shattered earth without fear or trepidation, the bright eyes visible through the shawl fixed on Wrex. Krogan around them touched their plates and a few fell to their knees. For a moment, Wrex did not understand why. Then the shame set in. _A female shaman. I have been away too long._

Wrex inclined his head in respect, desperately trying to recall just what the proper procedure was between male clan chief and female shaman. _It cannot happen too often._ The Shaman, his shaman, backed away slowly, cursing under his breath. _Ah, I do remember_ their _procedure. Where the embodiment of the male krogan meets the embodiment of the female krogan, there can be only one outcome: one must try to dominate the other, in a contest of genders. Wasteful, in this day and age. Ideally they should never be within sight of each other._

"Back away, male, you know well what I came here to do, and you need not be present for it." The Shaman retreated into the hospital as manfully as he could manage, yet Wrex could not help but note his hurried pace. He stared the shaman who now stood before him up and down, trying to recall the last time he had even seen a female of his species, let alone spoken to one. She glared back at him, an implicit challenge dancing in her eyes.

"I am Urdnot Wrex, Chief of Clan Urdnot." He had come a long way for this title, and now suddenly it rang hollow. _What other accomplishments do I have? A long and pointless list of "paid to do a job, did the job, got paid?" What have I truly done, up until now? Agh, trust a woman to bring out the inadequacy._

"Yes. Brother of Wreav – or rather, born of the same mother, at least." Wrex could hear the sneer beneath the shawl. "He has diminished the title you now wear, and your shared blood brings little promise. Tell me, were you planning to visit the female camp any time soon? Or were you just assuming we would march off to the _butcher's_ over there, like meek little children?"

"It had slipped my mind." Wrex tried to keep his mouth shut. "When I came here, I … I was more concerned about the males and what they might do to contest me."

"I expected as much." The shaman gave a sigh that betrayed an infinite amount of greater world-weariness than anything the male shaman had yet to muster. Wrex shut his eyes momentarily, anticipating a tongue lashing.

"Tell me then, Urdnot Wrex, has your long travel through the stars taught you the value of listening to women? Or did that slip your mind as well?" The shaman gestured to the distant wastes of Tuchanka proper, to the Urdnot territories and beyond. "Has your stay away from this blasted land torn you free from the chains of tradition, or did you always yearn one day to return to them?" Wrex stared at the shaman, hearts pounding, all too aware of every speck of dust that covered him, of every ache and pain that diminished him. He could not work up the nerve to respond. "Have you become deaf? Mute? Speak!"

"You should not speak to the Clan Chief that way," murmured one krogan to Wrex's left, only to be shoved roughly by his companion kneeling behind him.

"Idiot! Have you any idea what this woman can do? Do you have any plans to visit the female camp again in your lifetime?" The krogan gave the shaman (who was pointedly ignoring him) a dark look. "Worse, she can work curses. I heard tell in Clan Forsan that their female shaman placed a curse on the clan chief, and the next day, his quad had become a single!"

 _Well, there's a rousing case against being chained by tradition._ Wrex swallowed before finally opening his mouth, his tongue suddenly feeling quite dry.

"I have fought alongside asari and terran women," said Wrex. "I have seen firsthand the turian regiments, and how their men and women fight side by side. I fought one asari mercenary on a space station to the point of fully wrecking it, and yet when I finally jettisoned myself from the ruin, she still lived. If I seem uncertain, it is because I have not seen a krogan wo-"

"It is because you know nothing of women." The shaman shook her head. "Yes, you can tell stories to stir the hearts of men, of so many battles across the centuries. But war stories are told by men, for men. Have you any stories of women that do not involve battle?"

 _Ah. Damn._

"No. And I will acknowledge my ignorance." Wrex inclined his head, breath catching in his throat.

"Ah," she said, placing a hand under Wrex's chin and lifting it so that their gaze would meet. "And that is something your brother would never do." She snorted. "It's a start, at least. In my experience, the older a man, the less prone he is to change. And you … you are an old man indeed. Let us hope you have not been soured by the roll of years."

The shaman pulled her hand away, gazing into the bright light of the hospital.

"Some of our sisters gave their bodies to that madman in years past." The shaman pointed an accusatory finger into the entrance. "If you think we will give Okeer the slightest opportunity to work horrors on us once again, you are wasting your time and energy. He should be stripped of all belongings and left for Kal'ros before the Shroud."

"He will not be the one holding the tools when the time comes." Wrex pounded his chest. "I give you my word, as an ignorant male striving to be … less ignorant. I hear your words."

"It's a start," repeated the shaman, withdrawing her finger. "I will await you in the female camp then, Urdnot Wrex. You would be wise to make yourself known there, if what I hear of your dreams of unification be true. I take my leave. Your shaman may stop hiding." With that, she turned with a swish of her robes and made haste through the still-kneeling krogan. They rose in her passage, a few grumbling about the interruption of their work, or of their sore knees.

"This is unusual," said the Shaman, frowning as he rounded the hospital doorway from which he had hidden behind. "She did not bother to meet with the last two Clan Chiefs like this. She must see something different in you."

"She doesn't seem overly impressed." Wrex watched the shaman vanish into a large tomkah, whose engine drowned out the rest of the camp momentarily. "You sure she doesn't see me as inferior to my predecessors?"

The Shaman looked at Wrex as if he were mad.

"She complimented you on something other than your body," he said, as if such a thing were unheard of. "On your willingness to admit ignorance! Do you remember any visits to the female camp, Wrex? Can you remember the abuse they heaped on those they found deserving of it, chiefly the braggarts?"

"I've been away too long," grumbled Wrex, closing his eyes and trying to remember those long-ago times. He brought up his wrist and activated his omnitool, checking the time. _Hmm. May as well make the trip now, given that it takes an hour and a half._ "I have to meet with the UED admiral. When I return … I suppose I will visit the female camp."

"Tread lightly there, Wrex." The Shaman gripped Wrex's forearm with a reassuring hand. "They are fickle creatures. You may have earned the shaman's initial respect, but one wrong move, and it can take years to earn full forgiveness."

 _Starting to sound a bit more familiar, then._

Finding a tomkah that would take him out to the closest UED camp turned out to be a matter of bellowing loud enough until a mechanic caught his meaning. The rest of the camp remained reassuringly autonomous, fresh barricades being erected a few meters from the previous ones as a tacit challenge to their opposition, a new well being slowly dug (without explosives, at Wrex's insistence), and the tomkahs being fully refitted with parts bankrolled by the UED. _The protoss stopped all inter-clan warfare … but I have the go-ahead. With the UED's assistance, they will all be brought to heel. And, assuming we can get results fast enough, they will benefit from my leadership._

The tomkah ride to the UED command center proved far more enjoyable than the rather tense ride to the Rite, mostly due to the sense of control that came with it. The driver only grunted at Wrex's presence, but that was more acknowledgement than he had received on the previous drive as well. This time, every bounce of the tomkah did not make Wrex's stomachs lurch as he wondered if they had just run over a hydralisk and pissed off any nearby zerg, and whatever doubts he might have felt were eclipsed by a warm sense of cozy self-satisfaction.

It was a shorter ride as well. Wrex almost felt ready to nod off when the engine died, and the driver roughly shook him awake. He lowered himself out of the enormous vehicle with a suppressed yawn, stepping out before the first UED encampment he had had the opportunity to visit.

The command center sat squat amongst the ruins, a handful of weathered missile turrets surrounding it. To Wrex's surprise, the actual UED infantry was not in great abundance, only barely outnumbering the stationed Urdnot guards, who muttered honorifics as Wrex passed them by. The command center was already covered in dust, which doubtless promised to begin its long and inevitable victory at wearing away the surface. A handful of tents and small prefabs formed a square behind the command center, although they appeared to be uninhabited. And, of course, a thick twelve foot concrete fence surrounded the perimeter, topped by barbed wire.

 _It looks secure … but less so than I expected. If the krogan are to be exploited by these humans, one would think they would have put more effort into keeping their scientific sites better guarded. Unless … unless that is not an option for them._

As he approached the command center entrance, a human in a bright white coat and wearing goggles yelled across the yard and motioned someone over. Wrex paid him little mind at first, almost making it to the entrance, when a familiar voice spoke behind him.

"Urdnot Wrex. I am pleased to see my confidence in you was well-placed."

Alexei Stukov, clad in a thick trench coat, hat held to his head in defiance of the wind, and looking far grayer than the last Wrex had seen him. He sniffed, wiping his nose with his free hand, his eyes watering from the Tuchanka wind and dust.

"You're early. I remember what time you said you would be here." Wrex glanced around, wondering where his shuttle was, wondering how long the admiral had been here.

"My schedule was recently … accelerated." Stukov's mouth hardened into a straight line, somewhat whitened from what Wrex suspected was stress or a disagreeable reaction to his homeworld. "I made a mistake, but I am still on a schedule. I also wanted a lay of the land, so to speak." He swept his hand over the camp. "One of eight sites. Appropriate for our needs at present."

Wrex grunted, noncommittal. _More concerned about who's replacing Anderson._

"Has Okeer run into any problems, yet?" Alexei sniffed again, his bare hand lifted against his face as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "As I understand it, the true work of our people here will not begin until the first, ah, batch arrives."

"Needs a salarian who's worked with the Genophage." Wrex shrugged. "Claims to be working on it. Who's replacing Anderson?"

"I am." A cool voice, one Wrex had heard before. A man with shoulder length black hair and clad in Argent armor sans helmet sidled up to him, an ugly frown on his face. "Captain Kai Leng. I think we crossed paths briefly on Korhal."

"You went missing after Tarsonis was revealed." Wrex remembered little past the bloodrage and the pain that followed it. "I assumed you had died."

"I am not easy to kill. We have that in common." Leng looked to Stukov, apparently done communicating with Wrex. "There are no weaknesses in the perimeter, and the turret grid will prevent infiltration by cloaked or airborne threats. This site, at least, is satisfactory."

"Captain, would you be so kind as to wait inside?" Leng bowed at Stukov's words and departed immediately. Wrex watched him go, slightly ill-at-ease.

"He has less positive exposure to aliens than Anderson and his crew," said Stukov. "That may prove valuable given … what will happen here."

"The protoss did not disapprove of what they saw, of what you are planning." Wrex straightened, towering over Stukov, who was not even a large human to begin with. "Is there something you are not telling me?"

"We will be experimenting on pregnant aliens, Wrex," said Stukov in a dull tone. "To insure proper embryonic transfer of our nanites once a prototype cure has been synthesized. We have stocked up on painkillers for all species, but this will be unpleasant work. I am uncertain how hard you want to look at it. All I know is … the less attention you wish to pay to what we will do here, the more useful Leng will be."

Wrex's breath came in a thin whistle, his mind momentarily reeling at Stukov's words. _Experimentation on aliens – Okeer's fond of it, and Okeer's scum, but it is hardly unheard of. Bringing prisoners of all species to Tuchanka to experiment on them – a natural progression of alien experimentation. But … pregnant women?_

"They will be criminals all, I have been assured," continued Stukov, sounding as if he were very far away, which mentally he might very well have been. "No humans or krogan in their number, until the final stages at least. Their sacrifice will bring life to the krogan race, not only curing the Genophage for this generation, but for all generations. I needed someone with few positive compulsions and a strong stomach. Hence, Leng."

"Right." Wrex glanced around the side of the command center, to what he now realized were to be the living quarters of the poor bastards who would be experimented on here. "The protoss ok'd this?"

"We were not secretive. We substituted a small lie for a large one." Stukov shrugged. "We told them what we intended to do. They approved. We told them there would be sacrifices. As warriors of the Khalai, they said they understood. They offered to guard this compound from threats. As we speak, they patrol six miles away. Taldarin and Karass, I am given to understand, fought on the other side of the Hierarch in their civil war. They did not want to be here. We appealed to their code, the Dai … something."

 _He fooled the protoss. Does Okeer know what will happen here? Will he be participating? Can we … can I truly be a part of this, when I know this admiral already raises his blade behind our backs, preparing for that strike?_

 _Will we … will I cross this line to save my species only to secure a future of slavery?_

Alexei grabbed Wrex's arm with a reassuring strength, pulling Wrex's head down and staring directly into his eyes. The urge to bite rose its ugly head again.

"I need an answer," he said in a hissing voice, his breath rancid. "Are you prepared to go all the way with this, my good Wrex?"

 _Damn. Was I the krogan for this? They should have chosen someone smarter, someone younger, someone whose kroganhood has not been diluted from all these years of wandering. I know this is wrong, and yet … and yet this might be my only chance to ever hold a child of my own in my arms. This might be the only chance for any of us._

"Yes," replied Wrex, pulling himself away from Stukov. "Yes, I'm prepared to go all the way."

"Good." Alexei smiled, exposing yellowed teeth as his hands scrabbled in his coat for a cigar and lighter. He lit it with a smooth stroke, and then proffered it to Wrex, the end trailing smoke. "I knew I could count on you."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Tychus**


	47. It Can't Always Be the Apocalypse

**Tychus**

"So, this Citadel…" Tychus chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, waiting for Jim to turn and face him. Jim stiffened before leaning against the side of the airlock, his hairy arms folded. "Is it like … I dunno. A nicer, more boring version of Omega?"

Jim opened his mouth as if to retort, only to snort suddenly.

"Yeah. That really ain't too far off. Biggest criminals and warlords go to Omega, the politicians – criminals and warlords with legitimacy – go here."

Tychus looked at the airlock, trying to imagine a clean and boring version of Afterlife: sterile white lighting, clean, non-alcoholic beverages, and all the dancers kept their clothes on; they even wore bras.

"There ain't gonna be nothing for me to do here, is there, partner?"

"Wouldn't say that." Jim closed his eyes. "It ain't like Umoja; you don't have to dig nearly as hard to find the seediness. Plenty of bars and strip clubs for ya, Tychus, if that's all you feel like doin'." Jim opened his eyes. "Not sure how long we're gonna be here. I got some things to take care of, but you and the rest can do as you please."

"Sarcastic excitement: oh joy. The glorious leader has given us the okay."

Xeltan peeked his head in through the airlock, making Tychus and Jim scramble to get out of his way. He plodded through, almost looking too large for the room.

"Irritated: I hope we plan on actually staying for some time. I tire of the constant shunting from place to place, as well as fighting terrans."

"It's what you signed on for, man." Jim shrugged. "Raynor's Raiders was founded to fight Mengsk and expose Tarsonis. That part's done, but now we gotta clean up our own mess, and that means dealing with the UED. If you feel like you got better places to be…"

"Bluntly: I do." Xeltan shifted in place, shaking his own head. He turned to Tychus. "With honest curiosity: why do you remain here? What stake do you have in the endless fighting for the Raiders?"

"You gonna start convertin' my people, now, Xeltan?" Jim's voice was hard, and Tychus's face reddened as the intense urge to be anywhere else rose sharply. "It was all fun and games with the fightin', pay was alright, but now it's getting hard and you're gonna bow out?"

"With rising anger: it takes a brave man to say that to an elcor in a tight space." Neither Xeltan's face nor voice gave any hint to any underlying emotion, but Tychus could see the sheen of sweat on Raynor's scalp, and he knew Xeltan well enough to start backing into his own corner. "Viciously: revolutions seem aptly named. The wheel turns, but does not change. Your Confederacy turned into the Dominion through violent upheaval, and became the UED through a likewise violent rebellion. With restrained anger: I do not have any intention of dying for a pointless cause because you asked me to, and I do not agree with curing the Genophage. With conviction: that is why I am considering other options. And I am not alone."

Jim opened his mouth, shut it, and then waved Xeltan off angrily, turning away from him and facing the airlock door, his face the color of beetroot. Tychus stood awkwardly off to the side, averting his gaze and, when he had to cough, doing so as quietly as possible, creating a pathetic gasping sound.

"This is the captain, we are now docking." Tychus rolled his eyes at Horner's voice.

"Woulda liked to see the Citadel from the outside," complained Tychus, breaking the silence in what he felt was the safest way possible: bitching about someone who wasn't there. "Sure you couldn'ta busted that boy's balls and force him to let me on the bridge, Jimmy?"

"I didn't give him the title of captain just to override him on minor shit, Tychus." Jim didn't even bother looking at him. "You two got a problem with each other, sort it out yourselves."

 _That ain't the Jimmy I know._ Tychus took a good long look at his partner for the first real time since emerging from cryo; no armor, no drinks, no new sights to distract him.

Jim's face wore hard lines, and even as Tychus watched, the man brought his palm to his forehead, as if suffering a headache. He still had a full head of hair, something Tychus noted with faint resentment, but the dark black was now graying badly, streaks of aged lightning running through it. His hands trembled every now and again as he laid them at his sides, putting Tychus in horrible mind of his father, whose trembling hands never seemed to stop him from opening a bottle. _Or beatin' someone across the face with it. Ma. Me. Whoever was closer._

It might have been the leftover anger, but his face and nose in particular looked a little too red to be normal. When the Norad II clanked into place within the docking bay, he removed himself from the wall and stood, his right leg clearly bearing more weight than the left. In short, he didn't look like much; a man who had seen a lot, done a lot, and wasn't happy about most of it. _And that ain't how I wanted your life to go down, Jimmy. Not when I took the rap for you. What have they done to you? What have you done to yourself?_

"Jim, you've got a bit of a reception at the dock." Horner sounded distinctly uncomfortable. Jim turned in place, staring up at the ceiling and forcing Tychus to look away, lest Jim realize he'd been staring.

"Let me guess: Saren and Sarah, probin' to see which wounds still hurt at this point?"

"That, uh, that seems about right." Jim cursed under his breath, spinning in place as the airlock sequence began.

"Tychus, I am both sorry and glad that you're here to see this." Jim's fists clenched and unclenched, shaking all the way. When he looked to Tychus again, the anger from the past few minutes had dissipated in favor of anxiety. "I, uh, I'd appreciate it if you'd have my back. I told you about Sarah, right? In detail?"

"Yeah. Told you to stop datin' secret agents." Tychus cracked his knuckles. "Don't worry, partner. You break down cryin' into my arms after you walk away, I won't tell nobody."

"Surreptitiously: you'll still tell me, right?"

The airlock sequence finished, the doors opening into a whole new space station filled with art museums, zoos, government offices, and zzzzz … Tychus followed Jim reluctantly out of the airlock, Xeltan's heavy footfalls sounding behind them.

The air chilled noticeably as Tychus crossed the threshold into the Citadel, and the relative quiet of the Norad II airlock they had chosen turned into a background hubbub of commotion. Others exited from other airlocks running alongside the dock about once every two hundred feet behind them, spilling out of the ship with great excitement, while still pointedly remaining behind Jim and Tychus, likely because Jim was the one with the docking clearance.

They walked towards the distant docking office just in time to witness a protoss warrior come stomping out of nowhere to confront a very angry looking woman confronting an equally angry turian.

"What the hell's this?" asked Jim, stopping in place and holding his hand upright. "Hang on. No need to get involved."

"A warrior of the Khalai has far better means of spending his time than settling these disputes!" bellowed the protoss, his words unspoken and yet still sounding clearly through Tychus's head. He paused for a moment to scan the protoss, seeing as he had little opportunity to do so on Korhal. _Damn. Fuckers are tall. And Jim's friends with these? What do they see in him at this point?_

That last thought shamed Tychus, but there was little time to dwell on that.

"This idiot is trying to bring a weapon through the checkpoint," said the docking authority, voice strained with politeness, her knuckles bulging against the corner of the counter she stood behind. "I have been trying to process him for the last thirty minutes. If you would be so kind…"

"A weapon?" The protoss's head swung between the turian and the woman. "What fool would be so brazen to simply try to carry a weapon through this checkpoint! Come with me!" The protoss stretched out his arm.

"This item is a ceremonial object of my people!" The turian stepped back, obstinate, glaring at the protoss. "These terrans are all racist!"

"Sir, it is a nine inch long serrated blade," said the docking authority, likely on her last nerve.

"Oh, then what seems to be the problem?" The protoss immediately slipped to the side and pointed towards the exit. "Perhaps our peoples have more in common than we thought! May I see the blade?"

The turian glared at the docking authority until she pushed his luggage back towards him. He pulled out a nasty looking knife and presented it to the protoss with its flat facing up.

"A fine blade indeed!" proclaimed the protoss, before again pointing towards the exit. "Take care to use it only in private. You may proceed."

"You protoss are all right!"

The turian vanished, leaving the docking authority to seethe while the protoss stared at her in confusion. It was only when Jim cautiously approached the office with nearly the entirety of the Norad II crew lined up behind him that she calmed herself and greeted him with a bright smile.

"Hi! Sorry about that – it's been a long day. I'll try to get you all squared away. So – Jim Raynor?"

"Raynor!" thundered the protoss, making the lady jump. He stepped forward, his armor clanking, his footfalls even heavier than Xeltan's. "By Adun! Jim Raynor! Forgive me for not recognizing you immediately; Judicator Aldaris and Executor Selendis stress that we only read the minds of others when we believe them worthy of scrutiny – an unwise practice, in this case! Fenix will be thrilled to know of your coming!" A third time, he pointed to the door. "Security is not necessary! I will take you to him immediately."

"Can I do my job today?" asked the docking authority plaintively as Jim followed the protoss, the vast Norad II crowd following behind him as he motioned for them to move. "No? This one's on the protoss? Okay, I'm going on my coffee break!"

"How's Fenix doing? He still a Praetor?"

"He strives to be more, as Tassadar would have wanted, but Selendis is as fine an Executor as we could have asked for, even with her nerve cords in the state they are." The door through the security checkpoint opened, and Jim shot a panicked glance backwards at Tychus as they advanced through it. "Hold still for this procedure, Raynor! Do not think us lax because we see little need for some of the minutiae. If you come here in ill-faith, I will drag you to C-Sec myself."

"Yeah, don't worry about it," muttered Jim, holding his arms up. "Tychus? I can see Sarah through the door. I ain't gonna cry, but spendin' time with people I used to know and … don't anymore … it ain't how I want to spend most of my days. You feel me?"

"Oh partner," replied Tychus, closing his eyes and trying to suppress the feeling that this was how he had spent all of his waking days since the Purgatory, "I … I'll back you up."

"Clean!" barked a salarian through the bulletproof glass, motioning them to go through. "Damn. Plenty more crew where that came from. Move along! This might take all night…"

The protoss was the first through, impatiently motioning for the three of them to hurry up, only to freeze and turn as Tychus and Raynor made it through, as if suddenly confronted by a wild animal.

"Well," said a woman's voice. "You know Jim, it's been too long."

"Sarah." A bunch of history in two syllables. Tychus stepped to the side on instinct, and to his surprise, Xeltan followed. When he glanced at Kerrigan, the woman who had fought side by side with Jim during most of the Great War, it almost felt unearned, somehow. _This ain't my business, Jimmy. But you want me here._ _And … damn, where do you keep finding these women?_

Tychus had seen pictures of course, but the sense of toughness and extreme down-to-earth attitude that women like Kerrigan emitted never transmitted too well on photographs or through computer screens. And that was setting aside the lengthy bright red hair, startling green eyes, and legs that stretched on for days…

Kerrigan's eyes flicked to Tychus, making his heart shudder, reminding him in but a single moment that, in addition to the rifle on her back and the knives on each lovely hip, that she was a telepath and not to be fucked with. _Unless you're Jimmy, apparently._

"Is my name all you have to say?" Sarah folded her arms. "I mean it. It's been too long since we've stood face to face. What was the problem? I mean, the calls were nice, but-"

"All aboard the awkward express!" bellowed Jenny as she strolled out of the security checkpoint, holding hands with her asari girlfriend. "Woo woo! Seriously, people, this is a public area. I mean, good to see you again, Sarah, but shit, none of us have time for this melodrama."

Jenny shouldered her way past Jim and Sarah only to glance back at Xeltan and Tychus.

"What? You idiots want to watch? Or did Jim sucker you into trying to make him feel better?"

"Grudgingly: I have no reason to be here." Xeltan nudged Tychus with his head, making him take a step forward. "With honesty and excitement: you should come with me. I am meeting with my Uncle Harrot about future business prospects. He would be happy to meet you."

Tychus bit his lip. Jim and Kerrigan had retreated to a more private corner, both of their arms now folded, leaving behind a very awkward looking pair of turians, one wearing a glowing blue visor over one eye, the other bearing a metal arm.

"What'll Raynor do if you walk over there, do you think?" asked the visor turian. "Try to punch you out? Is that so bad? He's just going to walk on by if you don't at least make an effort."

"I showed up," said the other turian stubbornly. "That is my effort."

Tychus sniffed. "Yeah, I think we're done here." Another gaggle of excited Norad II crewmen exited the security checkpoint; Xeltan and Tychus followed them out.

"With respect: the Citadel has always been a favorite of mine." They waited in line before a glossy white elevator that seemed to move at depressingly slow speeds, but at least held quite a few people. "Embarrassed: while it is not as "exciting" as Omega, there is still always work for people like us."

The line moved forward a few steps. Tychus looked over his shoulder to see Jim and Kerrigan arguing apparently heatedly, the ghost's ponytail whipping as she shook her head.

"People like us?" Tychus asked dully, barely listening.

"Unabashedly: I promised my parents that I would one day turn my back on the less reputable elements of the galaxy." Xeltan uttered a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "Ashamed: I ended up installing the UED in place of Mengsk, and watching a man I respected execute Mengsk as if he were a back alley thug. Annoyed: there is no escaping the degradation of this galaxy, particularly your Koprulu Sector. It is time we embrace our inner scum."

"Thought I turned my back on that sort of thing," said Tychus, shutting his eyes again and shuffling forward another few steps. "Thought that bein' part of the Raiders meant rising above it."

"With curiosity: how attached is Jack to the Norad II?" They were almost at the elevator.

"Jack?" Tychus's brow furrowed. "She likes it. The people don't want nothing from her except to kill the people they point her at. Regular food. Good sex." He winked at Xeltan. "She likes it. And so do I."

"Earnestly: and how much longer do you see things progressing the way they are?" Xeltan made a vague humming sound, one Tychus had not heard him use before. "Earnestly: how long before Jim Raynor bites off more than he can chew in pursuit of his "justice?" Where will that place us? I respect the man, I understand why people follow him, but one cannot both scorn government and simultaneously try to create a better one through violence."

All of this was said in the familiar monotone, and frankly the lack of emotion within the voice made it sound even more reasonable than if someone else had said it. _But that don't change the fact that I wouldn't even have a present, forget a future, if Jim hadn't cracked me outta that tube._

They stepped into the elevator together, two other flight technicians inching their way inside with them and doing their best to not touch Xeltan.

"Casually: we must take a skycar to Harrot's place." Jingly music played on the elevator as it descended at what Tychus felt was an unreasonably slow speed. "Hopeful: it should not be too hard to locate one for elcor. Plenty of us live on the Citadel these days."

Tychus watched the Citadel roll by through the glass of the elevator. It was certainly the most diverse place he had ever seen, narrowly beating out Omega; salarians, turians, asari, and terrans all milling about on their own business, some carting crates around, others carrying guns and wearing C-Sec uniforms. Protoss watched over all of them with expressionless faces, standing taller than anyone in the crowd and very clearly standing separate from them.

There were other races as well, races Tychus did not recognize on sight and craned his neck to stare at as the elevator transitioned between floors. Tall and purple glowing jellyfish creatures that stood on several tall tentacles, sometimes escorted by smaller green lizard creatures whose arms stood out with wiry muscle. Weird four legged aphid-like creatures who wore bizarre little backpacks and walked around without anyone paying the slightest bit of attention to them, or vice versa. And, visible only a handful of times, much darker, slimmer protoss warriors, who wore shimmering cloaks that only appeared visible at certain angles, fading in and out of existence, much like the wearers themselves were said to do. _Whole galaxy's on display here._

The elevator came to a halt just in time for Tychus to grow sick of the horrible music inside of it. Xeltan made a beeline out of the elevator for a nearby series of parking spots next to a railing overseeing a vast abyss crawling with speeding vehicles, while Tychus stopped to take in the sights and smells.

 _It's cleaner here._ When he had originally envisioned the Citadel, it had been of a pristine whiteness, scrubbed to perfection by underpaid workers at the behest of some vast system. But he could smell clearly in the room, the scents of what might have been roasted chicken filtering out from below them, the sounds of people communicating in many different languages, too far off for his translator to pick up, and people, many different races, but all people, walking by one another without always looking like they were worried about getting into a brawl.

 _So this is civilization. Proper civilization._ It wasn't perfect, he'd heard enough to know that the Citadel was far from that, but in its own simple and austere way, it presented a far worthier first impression than any other planet or space station Tychus had seen. Omega might have held him in rapture briefly, but it didn't take much prodding for the residents to leave him lying bloody on the ground, for one of them to outright try to kill him a few hours later. Here … there was nothing like that he could see. _Just people, trying to live together. That ain't so bad._

"Impatient: cab is here."

An oversized skycar drifted in place before them, the back greatly sized up from the front to make room for elcor passengers. Tychus slipped into the shotgun seat, trying to suppress his surprise at his tiny driver.

"*hkkk* Where to?" The volus glanced back at Xeltan, making Tychus wonder how the little guy felt about the size discrepancy. _And how the hell did he end up driving taxis to ferry the big lugs around?_

"Professionally: Harrot's Emporium. I will handle payment."

"Very well."

The skycar jerked away from the edge of the docking area and joined countless others in the lanes above. Myriad stores and restaurants with neon signs spilled past Tychus as he glued his face to the window, occasionally broken up by a handful of C-Sec officers manning a checkpoint, usually overseen by a protoss in golden armor.

The air whistled by from the outside of the window, and Tychus craned his neck over to try and get an idea of the speed they were going at. Naturally, all of the instruments were decorated with alien symbols, and he came away disappointed.

The skycar dipped into a lower lane, and the bright aqua blue of the Citadel darkened into a light purple. The traffic thickened and the skycar slowed, giving Tychus plenty of time to witness the Lower Wards, whose numbers included quite a few krogan in addition to the usual suspects. Unlike the krogan on Omega, they did at least appear to be sober.

The skycar descended again, and the light assumed a deep purple tint this time. Distant bass hummed in what was basically a simulated night air, and Tychus felt the unapologetic thrill of being in a lively place without the usual fear of being mugged or in any way taken advantage of. _Alright, easy there. Thinkin' everything's on the up and up is the best way to get conned._

The skycar slowed before a grungy looking hardware store of some kind, a flickering purple neon "Harrot's Emporium," displayed proudly over the darkened entrance. The volus and Xeltan exited first, the volus's omnitool lighting up for credit exchange, while Tychus exited the car and breathed in the alien life, which unlike the last few locations he had visited, was not drowned out by the stench of smoke and soot.

"Slightly excited: let's go."

The skycar ascended once more as they departed, Tychus waving to the driver, who returned it with a tiny wave of his own. _Well, it's no protoss port like Jimmy's probably getting, but it'll do._ Tychus frowned at that, hoping that his little reunion with the sweet little redhead went well, and guessing that it probably wasn't. Xeltan and Tychus entered the emporium together, Tychus wrinkling his nose as the air became smoky all of a sudden.

A bell rang as they crossed the door threshold, making a sullen salarian turn from a shelf of omnitools to stare at them momentarily before returning to his quiet perusal. At the other end of the store an asari stood behind a counter, surveying everything with a finger at her chin. She smiled as they approached, beaming in particular at Xeltan.

"One of Harrot's old boys, right?" She didn't wait for a reply. "And a friend of yours? I'll go tell Harrot; he's busy right now, but he'll always make time for family. Yes … Xeltan, right?"

"Slightly embarrassed: that is correct. If Harrot is truly busy, we are happy to wait."

"Oh, nonsense!" The asari vanished behind a back door and out of sight. Tychus sniffed the air again, trying to figure out where the smoke was coming from, then nudged Xeltan's shoulder.

"So, uh, what kinda work's your uncle in, exactly?"

"Evasive: the oldest kind."

Tychus squinted at Xeltan. "Uh, prostitution?"

Despite a complete inability to move his face in a way Tychus would ever understand, Tychus still recognized shock in Xeltan's eyes as he turned to face him.

"Confounded: not to my knowledge. Impatient: you will meet him momentarily. And it is best not to speak too loudly outside his … office."

The asari reappeared from the back door, smiling widely. She flipped over part of the counter and ushered them through. Tychus noted that both the gap in the counter as well as the door itself appeared unusually large, and Xeltan passed through both of them with ease.

The asari led them through a small corridor lined with doors on either side that likewise were of enormous size, finally bringing them to the last one on the left. She hit the panel and then backed away, motioning them through. Xeltan went first, Tychus maintaining a polite distance behind him. The smoke grew thicker.

"With menace: because I consider you a friend, I will break your legs personally instead of sending someone else to do it." An elcor voice, similar to Xeltan's only modulated with a deeper tone, rang out from the back of the room. A terran man lay strapped down to a long table, a massive elcor towering over him, a thick cloud of smoke issuing from the cigar in his mouth. Yet when he ponderously turned away from his victim to face them, he made a happy whinnying noise at the sight of Xeltan.

"Joyfully: Xeltan, it is a pleasure to see you alive and well. Embarrassed: I thought it would take far longer to get through docking security. I was just finishing up." Harrot stepped away from the table, an omnitool suddenly glowing before his face. His eyes flicked left and right, and the restraints came free. The man stood with great suddenness, his hands clutching his red wrists. "Irritated: you lucked out, terran. You have until tomorrow to repay what is owed. With menace: do not attempt to run, lest I send Kreya after you."

The man nodded and left in a great hurry, not even bothering to stop for an apology of any kind. Harrot made a "hmph" sound before looking to Tychus, expression impossible to discern.

"This is Tychus Findlay," said Xeltan, suddenly eschewing the emotional preface. _Ah, because Harrot already knows._ "He has proven an able companion, but has little reason I can see to remain on the Norad II. He knew the Koprulu Sector well, back in the day, and robbed trains alongside Jim Raynor."

"Impressed: it is not easy for an alien to win the loyalty or recommendation of Xeltan." Harrot eyed him up and down. "Genuine warmth: it is a pleasure to meet you, Tychus Findlay."

"Pleasure's all mine," said Tychus, proffering a hand only to immediately stow it back in his pocket. "You're Xeltan's uncle? I can see the family resemblance."

"Embarrassed: Harrot is not a relative as terrans would understand it, Tychus." Xeltan fidgeted. "Hesitant and embarrassed: all elcor are kin, and our families are close given the devastation of our species, but Uncle Harrot is not related by blood. There is more to it, but it is not for aliens to understand."

"Sorry about that." Tychus did his best to look apologetic. _Don't wanna end up on that table, strapped down with smoke being blown in my face._ "Only got out of cryo a few months back. This is all new to me."

"Graciously: so long as one is willing to learn or admit fault, ignorance is no crime." Harrot inclined his head slightly. Courteously: do not feel embarrassed or threatened. No harm will come to you here, so long as you are my guest. Businesslike: let us go somewhere less … stuffy. Do you remember the Kana Club, Xeltan?"

"Of course."

"Then follow, please."

Tychus, now in the company of two elcor followed them back out.

"Businesslike: Kreya, I will be with family for a while. Lock up the store at eight. Daniels has until tomorrow to pay. You will have a hunt if he does not."

The asari smiled widely at this, bowing to Harrot before letting him through.

"Explanatory: Kreya is a former Eclipse sister," said Harrot once they were outside, a small cloud of smoke following him everywhere he went. "Maliciously: she has a tattoo on her back tallying the number of shoplifters killed or incapacitated in her line of work, and another on her thigh for running down debt dodgers."

 _Ah. So this_ is _the bad side of the Citadel._ _Still wouldn't mind seeing those tats, though._

Tychus's omnitool pinged, Jack's face shining from his wrist. With a mumbled apology to his elcor associates, he fell back, pulled an earpiece from his pocket, and fitted it in place.

"Hey," he said, keeping his eyes front, so he didn't accidentally knock into either of the elcor or, God forbid, another krogan. "This night's taken a weird turn. You off the docks?"

"Yeah, just got through. That red-haired bitchazoid was kicking up some stupid fuss about Raynor or some shit and held up the line. Protoss and these two weirdo turians had to sort it out." _Well, guessin' Jimmy's in a bad mood._ He still had to suppress a bit of laughter at Jack's blunt description of the situation.

"Well, at least you didn't get into any trouble." Tychus licked his lips. "You up for findin' some? I'm meetin' with Xeltan's uh, uncle, at this place called "Kana's Club." Lower Wards. Jimmy give you any money?"

"Enough to make my night, ruin a few other people's." Tychus could practically hear Jack's grin. "Maybe I'll see you down there. You know. If I get bored."

"Right. I'll just be down here, then. Hopin' you get bored."

"Hmm." Jack giggled, actually giggled, a sound Tychus had not heard her make before unless she was already covered in blood. "Alright, well, try not to get creamed by any more krogan. And if you could score me another golden statue head of something, that would be great."

The line went dead. Tychus caught up to the two elcor, but did not see fit to join their conversation, which now consisted of indecipherable cultural elcor jargon about their respective families … or something. The lack of emotional prefaces made it even harder to know how to think or feel about whatever they were saying, so Tychus just followed along, keeping an eye out for statues.

Their talk died as they entered a club pulsing with a heavy bass and blaring with flashing lights. The maître d waved them through immediately upon seeing Harrot, and a waiter led them to a very wide booth. To Tychus's mild surprise, the two elcor did indeed scoot inside and sit on their headquarters on either side. Tychus slid up next to Xeltan, unsure of how frequent a sight this was on the Citadel … hell, across the galaxy.

"Curious: so, Mr. Findlay, you were saved from cryogenic imprisonment by Mr. Raynor."

"Yeah, he busted ol' Tychus out of that freezer with Xeltan and a handful other miscreants." Tychus grinned at Harrot, whose billowing smoke cloud flashed with purples and oranges as the blaring lights kept changing color. "For which I am eternally grateful."

"Curious: are you paid well for your work, Mr. Findlay?" Tychus stared at Harrot, a little confused. "What stakes do you have in the ongoing galactic conflicts? How well do you understand the galaxy and the new societies within it?"

"I … I get paid okay," said Tychus. "Enough to cover drinks when we go portside. Everything else is basically covered by the Raiders. I mean … they broke me out, they gave me a home, they gave me a job … got everything a man needs."

"Piteously: spoken like one of the young." Harrot leaned over the table, the cigar shifting in his weird-ass alien mouth. "You have no concern for the future, provided the present appears stable. Accusatory: what of your existing tax records? Do you possess a passport of any kind, a terran nationality? Was any kind of paperwork submitted to any kind of authorities once you were resurrected? Is the system aware of Tychus Findlay's awakening?"

"Hell … hell if I know." Tychus shrugged, shaking his head. "Does that shit matter? I stick with Jim, everything's okay. He's got pull in the ITS … ITSA? Right?"

"Impressed: so he has cornered you into following his crusade?" Harrot leaned back into his side of the booth. "You have no existence or purpose without the support of Jim Raynor. You do not understand the galaxy well enough to even bring yourself back to life, and you rely on Raynor to make up for your shortcomings. Thoughtful: or, perhaps he is simply a fool, and has not thought about the ramifications of bringing someone back from the dead."

"That's…" Tychus shook his head again, more vigorously this time. "That ain't how it is. He does good work, and I'm just … without him, ol' Tychus is just a thug with nowhere to be and nothing to do."

"Curious: good work?" Harrot jerked his head sideways to the rest of the club. "Bluntly: take a good look around you at the people in this establishment. Think to all of those you have seen on this Citadel. What difference has Jim Raynor made in their lives? Grudgingly: he is famous enough, and speaks with the kind of familiarity and certainty that makes him popular on the extranet and with his crew, but his struggles are symbolic at best. He pulled the trigger on Korhal, and it made for a fine narrative, but in truth it was the UED who killed him."

"You gonna bring the rest of the crew to your uncle for this crap, Xeltan?" asked Tychus. "Try to turn 'em against Jimmy one by one?"

"Coldly, you are speaking to me right now, Findlay." Tychus muttered an apology while Harrot glared at him. Xeltan, to his credit, shifted further away from Tychus, almost out of the booth. "The Raiders are nothing without support, and suddenly, you find yourself without it. Offhandedly: and no, Cerberus does not count. They were a washed up spec ops organization that should not have lived past the Great War, and now they've even lost Moria. Jim's list of allies grows shorter as his list of enemies lengthens. It is time to think of the future."

Harrot leaned forward again and spat his cigar into the ashtray with surprising accuracy. When he leaned back once more, however, all Tychus could wonder was how he had put the cigar in his mouth in the first place.

"Honestly: I am not among the greats of underworld employers such as Aria," said Harrot. "However, I know opportunity when I see it. The UED's regime and regimes like it bring thriving black markets, and I have always had an interest of branching into the Koprulu Sector. I could use terrans … particularly terrans with no registered background. Ghosts in the system."

 _So me. And … even Jack, if she would be interested. God knows she'd be valuable in such environments._ Tychus frowned suddenly, a chill coming over him. _No … no. I can't betray Jimmy. Not like this. Everything I am, it's because he came back for me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even be sittin' here, discussing leaving him with these two horse people._

Harrot's omnitool beeped. The elcor gave a world weary sigh as a female voice chattered something into his face.

"Disappointed: in record time, Daniels bolts it for the closest docking bay and tries to leave." Xeltan rose to let his uncle out, and Harrot lumbered out of the booth with surprising speed. "Angry: I have a date with his kneecaps. Genuine regret: my apologies Xeltan, but I really cannot let this go unanswered. Please, let me make it up to you. Invite however many friends you want, and put your drinks on my tab." He glared momentarily at Xeltan. "With implied warning: do not overdo it, however. I will trust your Captain to make up the damage, but I would prefer you do not embarrass me." He turned to Tychus. "Courteously: I hope you will duly consider working for me. I will happily waive the background check fee for the opportunity. Now, I must go."

Harrot wandered off, leaving Xeltan and Tychus standing next to one another, feeling rather awkward. _Well … there's one way to cure awkwardness._

"Xeltan, your uncle just gave us a blank check." Xeltan grunted, looking at Tychus with suspicion. "Like he said, we're young men. We don't think of the future. Let's invite…" Tychus counted off with a few of his fingers before giving up, "…everyone we can think of, and then get hammered. Whatever's goin' on with Jimmy, it's gonna feel better at the bottom of a few bottles."

Xeltan paused. "With condemnation: Tychus Findlay, you are impulsive, crude, and shortsighted." Xeltan shifted in place. "With admiration: I have much to learn. Make the calls; I'm going to find me some elcor honies."

Tychus spent the next thirty minutes going down a list of Norad II personnel whose names he could remember, starting naturally with Jack (who jumped at the words "bar" and "blank check" being linked), then moving on to Jenny, Rory Swann, Declan, and Trome. After a moment's hesitation, he sent a text message to Jimmy, but he did not expect a reply. After a few moments of further hesitation, he even invited Matt Horner, if only for the opportunity to maybe see him throw up. _Bet the pansy can't handle any damn drinks._

They showed up in ones and twos, and Tychus tried his best to suppress the mild anxiety he felt at seeing that they brought people that he in turn did not know, and that they were calling their own friends. _How many folks work on that old battlecruiser? Around two thousand? Surely they don't_ all _know each other?_

They knew enough, however. The club, previously populated mostly by a mix of aliens, now quickly swelled with terran numbers, none of whom cared to remain quiet, or seemed to pay much attention to Xeltan's request to try and stick to only two to three drinks.

It didn't matter to Tychus for too long, though. Jack showed up, they ordered drinks, and before he knew it Jenny was standing on top of the table and loudly proclaiming the inherent superiority of the C14 Impaler rifle to the C16 successor, a bottle in one hand while the other gesticulated violently at Trome, who sipped a glass of water with an impassive expression on his face. Her girlfriend's hand was latched to her own face in exasperation, and the poor woman had adopted that position since basically the moment Jenny had ordered her fourth drink an hour ago.

"Hey, hey Kachinsky! They got a drink called "Metal Claw!"" Swann snapped his own metal hand in the slumped over Kachinsky's face at the bar. "Think I should get one? Eh?" He nudged Kachinsky with his own metal claw, and Kachinsky fell to the floor in a heap, a loud snore coming from his lips. "Fuckin' lightweight. Ryncol ain't that bad."

"The C16 fires in longer bursts, is lighter thanks to the eezo, has better range, and carries more ammunition." Trome tapped the table. "Sit the fuck down, Jenny."

"You've all been eezo whores since that relay opened," complained Jenny, sitting down on top of the table. "It's all been, "eezo this, eezo that. Hey, you know what would make these CMC suits better? If we put some fucking eezo in 'em!"

"That … did make them better, Jenny."

"Gimme a good old parade of cheap ass resocs in CMC armor, waving their C14s around like they actually know who the fuck they are." Jenny belched loudly, making Jack of all people give Tychus a confused look. "I mean, 's cheap, and you can just … just throw 'em against anything. Nowadays it's all, "ooh! We can't field troops without kinetic barriers! What about medics? The UED's got medics, send 'em in with the troops … did the protoss say it's okay? Can't do shit if the protoss don't like it!" I mean, fuck, what happened to good old fashioned terran meat grinder conflicts? Those separated the men from the boys. And shouldn't the medics be corpsmen?" Jenny shook her head, burping again. "I think … I think I'm going to use the bathroom now."

With more dignity than Tychus had seen her muster all evening, Jenny marched off to the bathroom, tying her hair back with fumbling fingers. _Well. I'm sure the next few minutes will be pleasant._

To Tychus's surprise, Matt Horner had actually shown up. He sat at a booth with Declan and a few bridge crew Tychus didn't recognize, a drink in front of him and a cigar, a bona fide smoking cigar nestled between the fingers on his right hand. As Tychus watched, the man actually laughed until he hiccupped, and then laughed even harder.

"Maybe this is all some people needed," murmured Tychus in Jack's ear. "Just … get away from the galactic extinction thingy people are worried about. Less fussin' about the UED. Just get drunk. Get laid."

"Does it have to be in that order?" Jack downed her own glass of brown liquid in a single go before rising, taking Tychus's hand. "Come on. You wanna dance?"

"No." Tychus took his own drink and downed it, the liquid burning in his throat. "Okay, now I'm good. It might not look like dancin', but on my honor, I swear it'sh dancin'."

The bright lights blurred, and worrying about looking like an enormous fool dissipated in favor of feeling the warmth of Jack's close body, tiny and yet strong, flowing about him like something he was too drunk to get all poetic about.

As the lights flashed around them and people hooted at the sight of the two of them, Tychus leaned in and kissed her, all thoughts of elcor and Jim forgotten, just the lights, and the drink, and…

A rough hand seized him from behind, turning Tychus away from Jack, who sputtered in confusion. Tychus pushed the hand away with immediate force, shoulders stiffening, animal instinct taking over. Jim Raynor stood behind him, the sweat shining off his scalp, his face red.

"This is what we're doin' with our time, huh?" Jim bared his teeth. "I mean, get drunk on your own, fine, but invitin' half the damn Norad II to come down here and trash the place?"

"We can cover it." Tychus leaned in, trying to smile, but knowing it came off all wrong and lopsided. "It's … it's fine. Folks needed this. After … you know." Tychus mimed a gun, pointed at the ground, and made the best approximation of a gunshot he could with his mouth. "It's all … all we've done since I woke up. Mengsk this. UED that. Can't we just…"

"Not right now, no. Guess I didn't make that clear enough." Jim raised his voice. "Tomorrow we go to Omega, alongside Fenix. The same insect bastards we fought on Korhal, them Collectors, Kerrigan and a few others found the info where they're hidin'. At the center of the galaxy."

"Already?" asked Jack bluntly, stepping beside Tychus. "I mean, more things to fight, great, but … don't you think we should get some downtime? How much difference is one battlecruiser going to make?"

"I ain't gonna see us left behind because a buncha idiots decided to get beyond wasted when there's basically a galactic war on." Jim motioned for the door. "Come on. Earlier you get to bed, the less cold water you'll use for your damn showers in the morning." Jim grabbed Tychus by the arm and pulled.

"Galactic war?" Tychus ripped his hand away and tried to maintain his balance. He pointed a single accusatory finger in Raynor's face. "Listen, partner, don't know if you've noticed, but the only one fightin' a war right now … is you. What … what say do I got in this?"

"Say?" Jim stepped backward, brow furrowed. "Tychus, how drunk are you?"

"Not enough not to worry about my damn taxes." Tychus stepped forward, almost treading on Jim's feet. "You brought me back, and that'sh great. That's great! I can … I can do things like wiggle my toes. And shoot people." Tychus waved off Jack's guiding hand. "But … what if I don't wanna do this no more, partner? If I don't wanna carry off cryin' little ladies whose boyfriends got killed by KM bastards, if I don't wanna watch a man get executed in front of his son while a horde of … of … you know, the Earth ones, cheer him on." Tychus scrunched up his face. "I just wanna get drunk for a while, Jimmy. So did everyone else."

"We ain't done yet." Jim's face hardened, and he turned to all of them. "This revolution ain't over, and we can't properly rest until we've finally got our better future. Cerberus ain't payin' us to rest on our laurels, folks. Party's over."

"You're just pissed 'cause of that ex-girlfriend of yours," said Tychus, the words spilling out before he could say anything. "And ... and the Mengsk shooting. 'Cause, 'cause, this whole "war" is really just your own struggle. Beatin' up the folks what did you wrong, tryin' to get rid of that damn guilt for goin' too far. And you wanna drag ol' Tychus into it? You wanna drag all of us into it?" Tychus stuck a finger in Jim's face. "The revolution's done! You won! Let us all ... let us all go home. We didn't get what we wanted, but Mengsk has a hole in the head. Why ain't ... why ain't you happy? And if you ain't happy, then why did you pull that trigger?"

Jim purpled, too angry to speak. Tychus took a step from Jim, almost sensing heat come off the man. Someone else decided to break the silence.

"Sir," said Matt Horner, rising up from his own seat and placing a hand on Jim's shoulder. "I think you're overreacting. You've had a bad day, happens when exes are involved. Maybe have a drink-"

Jim shoved Matt roughly, making the man stumble backwards into the booth, knocking over a drink on the edge of the table. Tychus, swaying and uncertain, saw red.

He yanked Jim backwards by the back of his shirt, almost feeling taken aback by the sudden ripping sound. But it was too late. His fist caught Jim in the side of the jaw and sent him spinning to the floor, where he lay unmoving for a few moments. In his stillness, he looked smaller than Tychus ever remembered him.

Slowly he stirred while Tychus stared at his own aching knuckles as if caught in a dream, uncertain of what he had just done.

"Fine then, man. Fine. Guess you took Xeltan up on that job offer he talked about." Jim brought himself to his hands and knees and wiped some blood off his lip. When he stood, his eyes were hard and animal. "You two enjoy yourselves, working for that uncle of his. I'm sure he's got some real life changing work for you. You can figure out the rest of this galaxy with him."

Jim waved a hand, motioning all the Raiders to leave. All the Raiders … not Tychus. Not Xeltan. They stood there, facing him, disbelieving.

"You coming, Jack?" asked Jim, turning his head one last time back to the club, not looking at Tychus.

 _He's got work for you, too, darlin'._ Tychus wondered for a minute why his girlfriend didn't respond … but then, she wasn't telepathic, was she?

Jack looked to Tychus and then back to Jim, unfamiliar strife gracing her features. She ran a hand over some of the fresh hair on her scalp, genuinely uncertain.

"No," said Jack finally, making Tychus really wonder if this was a dream. "No. I think … I think I'm okay right here. Best of luck, though. At the center of the galaxy."

"Right." Jim walked off, the last in the line of Raiders to leave. The three of them watched him go.

"Wasn't how this was supposed to go." Tychus sat down. "Guess that Kerrigan lady really shook him up." Jack sat in his lap, running a hand along his face.

"Yeah, well, it's not just Raynor in those Raiders." Jack smiled up at him. "It's okay. This was … I mean, I liked the ship and the people … but this was never a permanent thing. And the way Jim seems determined to take on the galaxy, I don't think the Raiders are going to be permanent neither."

"Conciliatory: he is not the same man who recruited me, nor the one you took the rap for." Xeltan kneeled, bringing his own face close to Tychus's. "His freeing of you was a gesture borne of that old friendship. You owe each other nothing, now."

"Right." Tychus stared up at the relative ruin of the club around him, to the outside where the Citadel lay. "Think it's time ol' Tychus got back to what he's best at." He glanced at Jack. "And Harrot's got some work for you, too. Says he needs terrans without backgrounds who know the Koprulu Sector. Who can fight." He grinned.

"Then I'm the lady for the job."

"It's the only one we seem likely to get right now." Tychus stared off at the last of the retreating Norad II backs, wondering if he'd get any of his shit back from the ship. He stared at his hands, sober in all of a few moments. Then he clenched his fists, feeling the reassuring strength within them.

 _Big dog's off the leash. Time to make some money, damn the consequences._

"No point mopin', then." Tychus rose, legs steadier than they had been when he saw Jim. "I guess, as the Earthers say, the future awaits us."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Selendis**


	48. Race to the Center

**Selendis**

The combined power of the galaxy swirled and shifted beneath Selendis, and yet she could feel little aside from the numbing cold that continued to plague her.

From her position atop the tallest spire in the _Spear of Adun_ , she could see clearly into the roiling minds of the millions of beings gathered at this focal point at the Hierarch's behest. Admiral Urun's Auriga Tribe was the most in evidence, their fighters and capital ships alike splashed with the garish orange that their tribe had used for millennia. The minds of the pilots and crewman felt sharp and focused; all gazed upon the epicenter of what was to hopefully be the final conflict with resolve, a hint of anticipation. They did not feel the cold.

The Ara Tribe, those who had borne the brunt of Artanis's wrath during the civil war, likewise made up a great portion of their Golden Armada. Their arbiters drifted with steady purpose through the ranks of the Khala and Nerazim alike, broadcasting a shield from the prying eyes of their enemies, shrouding the vessels they passed by in shadow, pausing only occasionally to initiate dimensional recall, to drag more of their allies into this final fight. Their minds felt like anchors to an unpleasant reality, all too concerned with the ultimate logistics of what they were doing, of what the coming slaughter might do to galactic unity. The battle did not excite them. They did their duty regardless.

The Nerazim too, were much in evidence. Razagal herself had arrived with an honor guard of Templar from the Boros tribe, hardened fighters who had combed the galaxy for the surviving Cerebrates once Thessia was won, and put all but four of the survivors down for good, outpacing the likewise incensed geth, terrans, and turians. Their ships intermixed freely with the Golden Armada's, their purple hulls glowing with ancient green runes both at once familiar and all too alien, remnants of ancient Khalani dialects since discarded in the passage of time by High Templar. Who commanded them, Selendis could not say for certain. All she knew was that in the end, they answered only to their innermost desires, and their Matriarch. Their minds blossomed with many cool colors, calmly assessing what they knew and did not know, and conferring continually with both their ancient texts and each other to steady their slightly shaking nerves.

Finally, of course, there were the aliens. The aliens were much in evidence, to an extent that Selendis could not help but shiver in awe at the display before her, both what she could see with the naked eye (very little) and what she could feel with her wandering mind.

The turians reminded Selendis of the great walls of ice she had seen on Braxis, their beings shining in the light, yet also cold and perilous to approach. Despite having been pulled here, before the Omega station and its relay, without much if any knowledge of the reasoning, their battle lines remained impeccable. Ribbons of faith in both their leadership and the protoss themselves ran through the entirety of the three fleets they had deigned to send. Unlike the other races, they felt no semblance of doubt or irritation at what needed to be done. To them, this was just another war to fight, even if the enemy was far less solid than any zerg, krogan, or salarian.

The terrans Selendis was used to sensing ordinarily sent off a firecracker in her head when she tried to take their thoughts all together; the combination of hugely different backgrounds courtesy of their origin on the prison ships and subsequent diaspora through the Koprulu Sector and beyond meant there was ordinarily little if no consensus or order until battle was finally joined.

She did not get that impression from the United Earth Directorate, even though she could sense a slight undercurrent of mutiny from their colonial levies aboard their silent fleets. The United Earth Directorate felt like an aquatic predator skimming just below the surface, their intent focused yet shielded from Selendis's eyes. At this moment, their guns pointed towards the relay in unison, and the hostility from the men and women aboard their vessels felt no greater than anything she had found on the Citadel. Nevertheless, the quiet from a race she had normally considered so obstreperous and prone to bombastic displays was somehow unnerving.

Reading the salarians was pointless. Their thoughts ran with a quickness that would shame any Templar, their lives and intentions hurtling along at a speed that no Firstborn would ever be able to fully appreciate. Their rounded vessels too, did not bring any greater understanding. Where the protoss prided themselves on each craft of war being equal parts lethal and beautiful, each salarian ship appeared forged from entirely modular parts, fitting for a race so prone to constant change and advancement. Like the others, at least, they took the threat seriously.

The DUAS fleets were a hodgepodge of resentment, hope, and resolution. Resentment at the presence of the turians and Directorate, hope that some kind of unity might be forged here, and resolution to prove their fledgling government worthwhile to the galaxy in a manner most incontrovertible.

The hanar, too, had supplied a modest number of ships, the likes of which Selendis had never seen. Sleek and slender, entire sections filled with water to accommodate some of the crewmen, their weapons humming with potent yet unfamiliar energy utterly unlike anything Selendis had witnessed before.

And from the hanar, she felt nothing. There was only a great chorus, rising and ebbing like the tides of their homeworld, its meaning unknowable, defying even the Firstborn's ability to discern intent and meaning through psionics. The chill it sent through Selendis was altogether different than the numbing cold Tyrant still sent through her, but it was no more welcome.

"It is almost time, Executor."

The Prelate Zeratul ascended the steps behind her, his newly forged battle clanking as he went, his eyes unusually solemn. A new warp blade clung to his arm, its surface not yet worn with use or marked with the long fingers of its tinkering master. And, most worryingly, Selendis sensed the same numbing cold coming from him that she herself felt.

"The races of the galaxy gather," said Selendis, turning back towards the largest window the _Spear_ had to offer, staring into the glimmering void, trying to discern the distant stars from the far closer, yet still unimaginably far off warships. "The Hierarch seems certain that this is the correct course of action to take, and both Kerrigan and the geth assert that this is a critical step in assessing and defusing the Reaper threat." Zeratul stood beside her, his figure slightly hunched, betraying the still healing wounds he had sustained at the hands of that abomination. "I should feel reassured at the size and variance of these fleets … yet all I feel is the cold."

"This is an enemy that seeks to reach within us and turn our insides into steel," murmured Zeratul. "You have seen it. I have seen it. The zerg … it was much the same in one sense. The desire to consume all, eventually be all. But I never sensed the same depth of…" Zeratul paused, searching for the word.

"Love?" asked Selendis, remembering Tyrant's bizarre words all too well.

"There was love in the Overmind as well," said Zeratul, voice still barely above a whisper. "No. Inevitability. These Reapers are old, Executor. We protoss are not even children to them from their perspective. Barely insects. When they come to cleanse us and … change us … it is with a practiced hand. I look to that relay, think of what lies beyond it, and I cannot help but feel that, even given another thirty thousand years of development free of strife between the clans, we will not be able to match their ultimate coming."

"I thought you told me that Nerazim should not fear death," replied Selendis, a faint chiding creeping into her words. "That the Void would take us all in the end."

Zeratul grunted, shaking his head and looking up at Selendis with mild irritation.

"The Reapers will not send us to the Void, not as we understand it." His right hand clenched into a fist. "Do not seek to twist the few words that still bring me comfort, Executor. Let me see your progress."

Selendis stilled, trying to reach into the parts of her mind that, until recently, she did not know she had. Reaching into the Void did not feel nearly as cold or unnatural to her as even the Hierarch had described it, during his abortive early attempts to follow in Tassadar's footsteps. Bereft of the warmth of the Khala, it instead felt like lukewarm water flowing over her skin, enveloping her in a protective sheen.

"You fade from my sight, if not my mind." Zeratul cocked his head. "Still … at the rate you are progressing … hmph. If only you had been born a Nerazim."

"And what do you mean by that?" Selendis asked sharply, her skin reddening slightly, her form returning to full visibility.

"I mean that you would not have been nearly as hampered by your gender in your steady ascent through the ranks." Zeratul snorted. "The Khalai place too much emphasis on raw strength, and their heroes are almost invariably male. When you feel the doubt in the warriors under your command, from where does it stem, even now? Taking orders from one numb to the Khala? Or from a woman?" He paused. "And … you take to the Void with an impressive readiness. Were it not for Tassadar, I would call you the most promising pupil I've ever had."

Selendis did not deign to answer him, but her temper and skin alike cooled at his words. She stared at her fingers as they increased in translucence. _The illusion of Tassadar aboard Tyrant was just that – an illusion. But … I cannot deny the point he made. The Khala is denied to me, and I do a disservice to both myself and the peoples of the galaxy by limiting my own development. I will honor the Khala as Tassadar did … and I will look into the Void, again as Tassadar did._

"It is time," said Zeratul, extending his own hand. "We are needed."

The ships and stars faded from sight as Selendis allowed herself to be pulled into the greatest quorum the galaxy had likely ever seen, as well as the first incidence of any lesser species being permitted aboard their great arkships. Here, at the center of the Spear, gathered the congregation of all rational sapience, Citadel and protoss alike.

The banners of innumerable nations and protoss tribes cascaded from the high ceilings in splendid colors, from the deep reds of the United Earth Directorate and Ara tribes, to the cool aquas of the hanar, salarians, and Umojans. Arranged about the golden room, seated in chairs far too large for them, the lesser species stared down at the central and smallest section of the room, where Selendis and Zeratul sat side by side with the greatest officers and warriors their race had to offer, Nerazim and Khalai both.

At the very center of their sunken throne stood the two greatest leaders of their peoples; Razagal, shrunken, quiet, and yet possessive of an undeniable potency, and Artanis, shining and strong, broad of shoulder and fiery of eyes. He nodded to Selendis briefly in acknowledgement, before redirecting his attention to the other pillars of light erupting throughout the seating in this grand antechamber; the other necessary leaders of all races were being summoned.

Aldaris sat next to Selendis, taking up her right while Zeratul occupied the left. While he did not turn to face her, his words nevertheless reached her head, filling her with slight disgust.

"Best behavior, Executor," he said, urging her to nudge her head to the right. "In the interests of transparency, the Hierarch has permitted all of this to be recorded, for the good of the galaxy. We must show once and for all our good intent to those that would otherwise fear us."

Sure enough, at the highest point in the room in the northeast, camera crews of various races jostled one another for the best shots, snapping at one another as they trod on each other's feet or ruined their shots. Despite being interested in transparency, Artanis did not seem interested in offering the media very much space to actually conduct their business.

A great sea of faces stared back at the protoss. The hanar glowed in mixes of blue and purple, their intent and meaning no clearer even now that Selendis could see them in actuality, their drell retainers likewise remaining completely shielded. The turians and Directorate humans sat stiff backed against their oversized chairs, only occasionally leaning over to one another to whisper or subtly point to some aspect of the arkship's chamber that was apparently worth noticing. Unlike the other species, even their politicians, such as they were, bore officer's garbs.

The quarians and geth occupied different ends of the room, the former having sent what looked like the entirety of their now technically defunct Admiralty Board as well as a good chunk of their captains besides, while the geth delegation consisted of but a handful of geth primes sitting quietly next to their asari allies. _Ah yes. The asari._

High Matriarch Aethyta stood out among their number as being both taller and possessing a mind reminiscent of Razagal herself, deflecting Selendis's probe with what felt like wry amusement. _The asari have potential, if they can hone it. They were born with gifts not unlike ours in some respects … but they spend those gifts on perversion._ Still, Selendis could not help but wonder about their future, much the same way she would wonder about the terrans' whenever she met Sarah Kerrigan.

She was here too, a low simmer of anger and hurt. Selendis could not find the woman with her eyes, but she still sensed her presence amongst the DUAS representatives. _Is that who she identifies with now? To which country does the terran Spectre belong to in these troubled times?_

Her rage seemed to be directed at a certain point in the room, a point Selendis followed with trepidation. At first, she thought it centered on Fenix, who inexplicably occupied a seat among a small mixed delegation of races, which baffled her to no small extent. Then, Fenix shifted, and she saw the terran who sat next to him. _Ah. Jim Raynor. I am not surprised he would choose not to sit out this conflict, regardless of his actual means._

Selendis could not quite fathom why Kerrigan directed such venom towards the man, although knowing lesser races it usually had to do with sex, power, or money and was generally not worth worrying about. _Still … the raw power that terran possesses … Adun forbid she directed it towards something of such little real consequence._

Artanis stood and raised his armored hands. The crowds quieted with near immediacy, the last pillars of light fading as a handful of salarians materialized amongst their brethren, marveling at and then acclimatizing to the environment they found themselves in with a speed that Selendis found alarming. _These are creatures that are to be kept far from any kind of sensitive data regarding the Firstborn, lest we see it spread to all corners of their Union and analyzed relentlessly._

"Peoples of the galaxy!" boomed Artanis, never looking like such an authority until now, his grand golden helmet adding to his impressive height, his armor projecting an image of both might and splendor. "Forgive this sudden rallying of all available forces. Your Council Spectres, agents whose loyalties and abilities have been tested time and time again by your recent conflicts, have achieved a breakthrough while the rest of you fought meaningless battles."

 _Yes, let's start off this meeting by admonishing everyone who is not protoss._ Thankfully, Selendis did not feel much in the way of resentment; it seemed the lesser races were as tired of their own struggles as anyone else.

"Here we gather to finally strike at our true foe, one whose enormity and history dwarf all of ours combined, protoss and lesser race alike," continued Artanis, making Selendis wonder if the Hierarch could speak for any length of time to the other species without reminding them of their inferior development. Selendis's eyes flicked to the turians, whose steely gazes reminded her of the battle around Illium. _They're catching up, Hierarch. They may be the future._

"Here, at the long unknowable Omega 4 Relay, we prepare for the onslaught that will finally end this Collector threat that besieges us." Artanis directed a heavy hand towards the salarian delegation. A lone salarian with a broken horn stood, inclining his head.

"Omega 4 Relay," began Mordin Solus, voice still clipped and fast as always. "No ships return through it. Clear why, once Collectors sighted exiting it. Reaper space. Spectres tracked down Shadow Broker, confirmed Reaper involvement. Geth decoded data banks." Mordin held up two fingers. "Two major finds. One: Reaper IFF system in place on relay. IFF system recently recovered from Reaper corpse, courtesy of geth, cleansed by combined geth and protoss AI efforts." As one, nearly everyone in the vast chamber stared at the small geth delegation, who stared back without any apparent emotion, without any pride. _They did it because it needed to be done and no one else could_ … Selendis could not help but notice one looked to the quarians however, as if hoping for some kind of acknowledgment there. _You'll find only pain in that avenue, friend geth. I am sorry._

"Two: location of Collector Base at center of galaxy." Mordin took the time to take a sharp breath as a rolling murmur ran through each race … even the protoss.

 _The center?_ Selendis thought carefully of what she knew of the center of the galaxy. _The zerg arose from there originally, as Zeratul tells it. But … most of that space is black holes and exploding suns, out of reach of even the protoss. The gravity wells extend even into the Warp and Void, preventing easy passage. That the Reapers can establish a home where we cannot even tread…_

"This is certain, again explains lack of ships returning," continued Mordin, quieting the din again. "Even with Reaper IFF, concerned about opposition on other side. Concerned about layout of available space. Given relay drift, sending through all forces equipped with IFF impossible."

"Then might I suggest a prudent course of action?"

A terran, standing from amidst the DUAS delegation, dark of skin and wearing a red beret. A wide smile adorned his face, and Selendis's own mind slid off of his as if it were made of smooth marble. He did not resonate with power as Kerrigan did, but the technique was practiced, the mind behind it strong. He also provoked an immediate reaction from the other side of the room, as the Directorate Admiral stood.

"Lieutenant Duran!" barked the man, his mind raw with rage and private agony even through his own mental shield. "I wondered where I would see you next! Tell me, who are you serving at present? Whose uniform do you wear beneath that Cerberus garb of yours?"

"Why, I serve a higher power, Admiral," replied Duran, inclining his head, smile not fading. "And as for what lies beneath this uniform of mine … this would hardly be an appropriate venue to show you."

"Enough." Hierarch inclined a hand, and the admiral sat, not entirely of his free will. "Lieutenant, speak. I trust you did not interrupt without good reason."

"Of course not, Hierarch." The Lieutenant inclined his head again. "I speak from experience within the UED. They have a most fabulous stealth ship, one whose maneuverability and propensity for remaining undetectable, even in pitched battle, is unlike anything I have seen before. It is small yet potent, designed to reconnoiter without any chance of the enemy becoming aware. They call it the _Normandy._ "

"You are a traitor, Duran," called out the Admiral, face straining as he tried to rise in his seat, to resist the stern influence of Artanis's mind. "This is not for you to share!"

"Is this true?" asked Artanis, glaring down at the small human with a mixture of hope and mild anger blooming deep in his chest.

"It is true, and I will gladly volunteer the use of this ship," spat Stukov, glaring at the still smiling Duran. "This is a foe that the UED cannot undo alone. I put the crew and the vessel at your disposal … provided you remove that treacherous colonial from this room!"

"This one objects to the demeanor of the admiral," intoned a hanar, the purple tone of its skin flashing to a light blue, its voice carrying despite its otherwise quiet demeanor. "This one believes this to be a time of unity. The one you know as Duran has made a worthwhile proposition."

Selendis's eyes narrowed. A tendril of thought, thin and quick, snaked its way from the hanar to the lieutenant, almost too fast to be seen. A private acknowledgement of some kind, as if this object and their response was somehow planned.

Selendis looked to Zeratul, whose eyes were likewise widened in slight confusion. He felt it, too. _What possible relationship could a hanar and a terran ghost have?_

"Shines-Beneath-Waters speaks truth," proclaimed Artanis. "Duran may remain. Admiral, contain yourself. Only one thing matters here: the destruction of the Reaper menace. Once the creatures are dead, then may we continue onward with our pointless conflicts."

"A noble sentiment," murmured Aldaris, the resignation thick in his voice and thought.

"While sending forth the entirety of this grand armada would be too great a risk, the Normandy offers a great opportunity for breaking through to the other side without being seen." Duran's smile widened. "I am not fully aware of protoss capabilities, but it may also be possible to initiate dimensional recall on the other side, bypassing the issue of relay drift and insuring a steady stream of reinforcements for the actual assault."

"The Hierarchy has grown weary of jumping through unknown relays only to be slaughtered by ancient species." The Primarch of Palaven stood, his own attire plain and unadorned in contrast to his protoss counterpart. The room quieted at his words. "If we can secure a layout of the space on the other side without risking our fleets unduly, it should be done." He glanced at the salarian delegation, his attitude cool. "I do not think anyone in this room would object to having a better understanding of the situation in full."

"Unity!" intoned the hanar known as Shines-Beneath-Waters. "The Normandy is to carry the hopes and dreams of all the races gathered here. The crew should reflect that. This one contends that all peoples present should send representatives aboard the vessel, to send a message to our own, and the enemy alike."

"An … interesting proposition." The Hierarch searched the minds of those present with him, of the other protoss leaders. Selendis beamed back her own opinion of mild approval: if nothing else, it had probably been too long since some of these species had willingly occupied the same space for such an extended period of time. _To try and mend relations between the turians and salarians, Directorate humans and colonial terrans … quarians and geth … it is a worthy goal. This would be a small step._

"Are there any objections among the rest of you?" Artanis stared out at the masses of politicians and military leaders, cautious optimism growing inside of him. "I see no krogan or elcor amongst us."

"Room will be limited aboard the vessel in any case." The admiral appeared resigned to this course of action, having donned a mask of mild anger and disinterest. "The number of passengers we can carry in addition to the necessary crew will not be large in number. As for krogan - I understand there is one I can send for among my own number; a new Urdnot clan member from Tuchanka."

"Very well." Artanis nodded, thinking. "We will need recommendations. At the very least, each union of species should send a representative."

"While I would normally be loath to send them into greater danger, the heroes of Luna Base have earned the right to be written into another history book." Stukov gestured to a very tired man of dark skin, dressed in a military uniform. "The krogan I mentioned is associated with their number already. Rear Admiral, would you accept this honor?"

"The first human CO to enter the center of the galaxy?" The Rear Admiral's thoughts betrayed the vaguely excited tone he attempted to inject into his words. He just wanted to be the first CO to return home to Earth. "I would be honored, sir. As would my team."

"The Turian Hierarchy has already contributed much to this cause, chiefly through our two Spectres, Arterius and Vakarian." The Primarch inclined his head to the two lone turians in the mix of species surrounding Kerrigan. "They-"

"The turian responsible for Tarsonis's destruction has no business on any human warship." Stukov's words were flat and final, a blunt instrument across the face of both the Hierarchy and Saren himself. Selendis shut her eyes for a moment, trying to contain her own frustration. She was not alone.

"I cannot deny the legitimacy of that particular grievance," growled Artanis. Stukov only returned a dead-eyed gaze, defiant and immovable. "The Hierarchy will have to content itself with a single representative in Garrus Vakarian."

Selendis reached out for Saren and found only a wall of ice, with a sickly scent of shame issuing gradually from it. _So. He does not feel this exclusion is unjustified … in private at least._

"Mordin Solus for the Union!" called out a throaty voice, a female salarian in a heavy hood standing, arms raised. "He was the voice of the resistance against the zerg years ago, he will serve as our voice again, now."

 _An appropriate choice._ Her own thoughts were mirrored in Zeratul's and Artanis's - fitting, given that Mordin was likely one of the first salarians they had met, and had certainly set a positive impression for such a strange species.

"We will reupload Legion to a form of more suitable size," stated one of the geth primes in a voice of deep electronic bass. "They have served as ambassador to us before, they will do so again."

"Again, a worthy choice," muttered Zeratul, and again Selendis failed to disagree.

"We are of an unsuitable nature to venture forth on this voyage." Shines-Beneath-Waters extended a single tendril and gestured to a slight drell of green skin, his unassuming demeanor housing a mind that reminded Selendis all too much of a Nerazim - disciplined and alien. "Thane Krios has served as our hand before, and has never shamed us."

"A drell?" Artanis stared in confusion as Thane stood, crossed his arms across his chest, and bowed to the protoss.

"I am honored to accept this position," he said, his voice raspy. "That is - provided the protoss will accept one of my kind on this mission, in place of a hanar."

"I am … unfamiliar with your species." Artanis blinked. "Hopefully, your inclusion on this venture will rectify this." He turned to the DUAS peoples, who all liked to Matriarch Aethyta with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

"Send Duran," she said, gesturing to the man in the beret, who actually turned his head sharply at her suggestion. "For the Umojans, I mean. Do the quarians have any suggestions?"

"Tali'Zorah," said Rael'Zorah firmly, standing immediately. "She has experience with both terrans and … geth. She can work alongside them if need be."

 _And does your daughter have any objections?_ Selendis shook her head slightly. _No, not since it was you suggesting it. Is this about her being an appropriate person to send, or simply because you want to say your daughter was the first quarian to see the center of the galaxy?_

But Selendis's musing meant nothing. The moment had passed, and none of the other quarians in the room wanted to spend any amount of time aboard a ship with the geth. That left Aethyta musing about what asari to send.

"Samara would have been a good choice, bless her," said Aethyta, lips pursed. "Hmm. Why not? I've already got the reputation as a raging maverick. I wouldn't mind seeing the center of the galaxy."

"Is that wise?" asked Artanis sharply as the DUAS delegation as one either placed their face in their hands or stood, protesting the Matriarch's words. "We are uncertain of the danger, and you are irreplaceable to the Republics."

"Wise?" Aethyta snorted. "No. Is it what I want? Sure. I'd rather I be the face of the asari presented to the Reapers rather than some no-name matriarch who spends the entire trip trying to either make everyone get along or bang a protoss."

Selendis winced at that, and she was not alone. Duran outright burst into laughter, his voice ringing alone through the DUAS delegation.

"Very … very well." Artanis's voice no longer possessed the same tone of condescending superiority as before, and no one else seemed willing to contend with the Matriarch. _Well, if the claims about this Normandy are true, at least she will be relatively safe._ "From our own delegation?"

"Prelate!" called out Razagal, inclining her head to Zeratul. "We have need of you again. Is your wanderlust sated, or are you prepared to make the seminal journey of the Nerazim, to be the first to stare into the heart of the galaxy, as well as our enemy?"

"Without fear and without hesitation." Zeratul felt for his new warp blade, clasping it reassuringly.

"I volunteer myself!" called out the deep booming voice of Fenix, standing to his full impressive height. "Furthermore, I request that we bring James Raynor to represent the unaffiliated terrans of the galaxy, those who stand neither with the Directorate nor the Umojans in the DUAS!"

"Brave Praetor, we would be glad to have you represent us in this endeavor." Artanis glanced down at Jim, who stared back sullenly, uncertain of what he wanted. "James Raynor, I am honored to see your face again. If you will it, I am sure there is room."

"I already know most of the people goin'." Jim shrugged. "Sure. It'll be a sight to see."

"We of the Vol-clan protest this gross oversight of our peoples yet again!" A diminutive creature stood atop the armrests of his greatly oversized chair, his mind blazing with indignation. "Two representatives the Primarch originally suggested, and both of them turian! We will not be overlooked!"

 _Well, there is certainly room for one of his size._ Selendis wandered idly through the corridors of the volus's thought and found it riddled with grudges and similar stains, an endless sea of complaints and grievances against the treatment of himself and his peoples.

The Primarch stood ponderously, arms folded behind his back, eyes staring straight at Artanis.

"Din Korlack once represented the volus on the Citadel," he said without a trace of emotion. "I am certain he will be pleased to represent them once more inside the _Normandy._ "

The volus sputtered and choked, his voice occasionally interrupted by the breathing of his suit, but no one stood in protest. _Again, I am hoping this voyage is safe._ The volus sat down again, uncertain of whether he had received a tacit death sentence, or simply what he wanted. _Well, until we see the center of the galaxy for ourselves, it could be both._

"Aldaris, a judicator must supply the recall once they are through." Trepidation crept into Artanis's voice as he looked to one of the few judicators he could likely count on for this task. Aldaris looked back at him blankly.

"It shall be done." Aldaris paused before redirecting his attention to Selendis herself. "Executor, I hope you will emerge through the rift with all speed once I create an opening. Send the Arbiters of the fleet first, that they might widen the gap. I entrust my life to your promptness."

"I will not fail you, judicator," said Selendis, and she meant it. _Nor Raynor, nor Tali, nor Fenix nor Zeratul, nor Legion, not even the Directorate humans who fill me with such disquiet._

"Preparations and adjustments must be made." Artanis turned a steely gaze to all present. "We are the united front against the darkness. Put aside all your hatreds and all your doubts for this hour. Soon, we will be staring into the heart of the galaxy, as well as the vile creatures who dwell within it. Steel yourselves for a struggle. This is the hour for questions, if you have them."

There were naturally a sea of questions within moments, but that was not what caught Selendis's attention. Duran had vanished, as had the curious drell creature who had so readily volunteered to serve on the _Normandy._

"Prelate." Selendis gestured with a thought to the empty spaces where they had sat. Zeratul grunted and urged her to follow, unseen if she could manage it.

The familiar lukewarm of the channelled Void filled her skin and her thoughts. Selendis faded from even her own sight, shadowing both mind and body from even her closest contemporaries within the Khalai; when Fenix looked to her seat and saw it empty, he reached out with his psionics and found the space just as empty. _Ah. This has its advantages._

Zeratul bade her follow, his own razor sharp intent searching, searching for those curious minds that had so fascinated them, for that strange link between the enigmatic Duran and the equally enigmatic Hanar Ascendancy.

To her surprise, Zeratul did not search endlessly among the seats and further corners within the chambers, but instead proceeded directly through one of the open exits, following some mental scent that Selendis as of yet lacked the knowledge to ascertain. The guards at the door did not notice their passing, and Selendis made a note of it. _Even barely trained shadow warriors can deceive their senses. This must be remedied, if more rogue Dark Templar still seek to bedevil us._

Selendis followed Zeratul carefully, taking great pain to measure each footstep to prevent the clanking of her heavy armor, to muffle the weighted footfalls of her metal boots. They climbed upwards through an empty passageway for a time, a hallway in which no protoss bothered to tread in an age where teleportation could be accomplished with such ease. It was there, in hushed voices, that two non-protoss figures conversed, walking slowly through the brightly lit and yet utterly empty golden halls of the _Spear of Adun._

Zeratul bade Selendis halt just inside the hearing of the two of them, and sent a gentle warning not to apprehend the two beings, just in case. _I am not such a fool, Prelate. I would rather hear what they say to one another when they feel they are truly alone._

"...felt well?" Duran's voice, lowered and serious in comparison to his somewhat facetious performance amongst the rest of the sapient peoples. "The lungs are fully recovered?"

"The surgery was trivial compared to the adjustment of my eyes," replied Thane, his posture and demeanor still utterly professional. "The recovery period ended three weeks ago. I have resumed my physical regimen. I am prepared for what may come to pass."

"You bear altered eyes?" Duran sounded surprised. "So … you can see how the hanar communicate. You can see past … all of this."

From Selendis's vantage point further down the hallway, crouched partway behind a support beam inscribed with the brief yet still bloody ending years of the Strife, she saw Duran gesture to his whole body, confusing her. Is there more to see? _Tell me he is not about to strip naked…_

"As the hanar, I can see your face clearly." Thane did not appear moved, even as Duran snorted in a mix of amusement and astonishment. "It is not what I envisioned. Forgive me if I do not succumb to religious bliss at the sight of it."

"As a non-hanar, I would not expect you to." Duran paused, a hand placed on his chin. Zeratul, from the opposite end of the hallway, took a few more steps forward. "This is going better than we had any hope of expecting. With luck, we will strike such a blow that the Reapers will be forced to come to us in the slowest means available to them. Moreover, we will have evidence the galaxy will not soon forget."

"You are confident in the human ship?" Thane asked. "What of the contingencies? Should you die, what options will be left to the Ascendancy and Tal'darim?"

"The xel'naga experiments remain a last resort," said Duran sharply. "I dearly hope you were not referring to them. Command will of course fall to Alarak, who will only be too happy to provoke and then engage the Reapers. I have also, recently and intriguingly, located a potential replacement for our beloved Overmind, one who might be able to revitalize our promised footsoldiers in the coming slaughter."

"The zerg can be controlled?" Thane cocked his head. "The Great War did little to generate faith among the faithful. The Ascendancy were relieved at the Overmind's passing."

"The Overmind could not be reasoned with in the end," replied Duran, his smile seeming to lighten the darkness, "but this one … and with the rachni as well…" Duran paused, suddenly glancing directly at Zeratul, who now stood only five feet away. He stared intently for a few more seconds with narrowed eyes before beckoning Thane follow him in the opposite direction. The two protoss remained frozen for a few moments before continuing onward, listening as closely as they could all the while.

"The Directorate remains the uncontrolled element," said Thane. "Their admiral dreams of supremacy."

"They stand outside the workings of both xel'naga and Reapers," said Duran, giving both Zeratul and Selendis pause. "If there are solutions to the Cycle that I have not been able to discern, their unique perspective would make them most likely to discover it. As for the admiral, leave him to me. Should he stray outside the boundaries of acceptability, I will break him."

"They follow," said Thane, stopping dead. Duran joined him. They faded from sight almost immediately, and no sound of hurried footsteps followed them. Zeratul reappeared with an irritated sigh, and Selendis joined him in the light.

"There is something deeply wrong here," he said. "The terran speaks of his own species as if he were not a part of them … and he throws around words such as "xel'naga," and "Tal'darim," as if they were all too familiar to him."

"The Tal'darim are a legend that should be known only to protoss." Selendis rubbed her temples, genuinely uncertain of what she had just seen. "To hear that word spoken by a terran … what do we know of the hanar and drell? And Cerberus? What of them?"

"Not enough, too little, and we had previously thought Cerberus inconsequential." Zeratul stared back at the way they came, to the distant chamber in which the journey to the center of the galaxy had been decided. "And I thought my views on the galaxy challenged by my rogue brothers and sisters…"

"You will keep a close eye on the ghost, I trust?" Selendis placed a heavy hand on the Prelate's shoulder. "Perhaps question him or the drell, if you can?"

"He will be no more able to evade me than his own shadow." Zeratul nodded, slowly at first, but then with vigor. "I doubt questioning him will produce much if anything." He paused. "And … while you remain … perhaps you might spend some time with the old texts or a Preserver, to find whatever you can about the old Tal'darim. If they still walk these stars, they must be accounted for as soon as possible. And as for the zerg..." He shuddered. "I dearly hope those were empty or mistaken words. Perhaps it is time to pay a visit to Umoja."

 _I have an armada to command you know_ … but Selendis could not bring herself to say it. They had their respective duties, and they were fairly divided given their own natures. _And besides, I would not trust this knowledge to just anyone. Imagine if I told Fenix or Artanis what I had seen … they would drag Duran into one of these vessels and play with his brain until it coughed up every last detail … and our allies would flee in all directions as the protoss became the monsters some of them already think us to be…_

"Take care on the _Normandy_ , Zeratul," said Selendis, squeezing Zeratul's shoulder reassuringly and then releasing it. "When I join you at the core, I expect your being to remain fully corporeal."

Zeratul chuckled. "I struggle to see how that would come to pass. This is no suicide mission."

* * *

 **Not doing the next chapter thing for a bit. Sorry about the delay.**


	49. Break On Through

**David**

"Every minute I spend in that damn ship makes me wish I was still in the Thresher Maw's belly." David stared at the _Normandy_ with an open yet newfound loathing, his hands clenching and unclenching at the prospect of the mission before him. Commander Shepard watched him with sympathetic eyes, her gaze occasionally darting to the loading ramp, where the devil reporter expounded at length the magnitude of the mission, the historic significance of so many races working together, the enormous UED technological advances and innovations that made it all possible…

The _Aleksander_ hangar looked oddly empty with only the _Normandy_ latched securely to the docking clamps. Everything else stood vacant – cleared out for Khalisah's completely-welcome-and-not-at-all-grating news report on the history of the vessel, as well as the heroes of Luna Base.

While the inside of the ship might have been a whirlwind of international and inter-species tensions and passive aggressive sniping, the outside at the very least looked the part of a wunderwaffe stealth vessel that the other races would drool over – thanks to a 72 hour tune up, one would never have guessed that the ship had recently docked on ruined Tuchanka.

"She's already trying to spin it for the people back home," said Shepard, a hint of disapproval in her tone. "Trying to make it sound like the _Normandy_ is something even the protoss can't do, instead of something they just … you know … don't think of until you point it out."

David rubbed his temples, idly contemplating yet again if he would be allowed to just stow the damned volus in a cargo crate until the journey, however long it would be, was over. _I know that big protoss, Fenix, he liked the idea._ The protoss's intrusion into David's mind had initially been unwelcome, until the protoss simply congratulated David on his Tuchanka kill and concurred with his assessment of Din Korlack as a berk. _Wonder if the protoss got a good look at just what that word means. Maybe now we have a protoss walking around with a knowledge of Cockney Rhyming Slang…_

"It shouldn't take too long at least," said Shepard, arms folded, watching the reporter's every movement with a dark gleam in her eye. "Just a peak on the other side, transmit some coordinates through EDI, then go home. Quicker than a shuttle from Mars to Earth."

"In theory." David folded his own arms and began tapping his right fingers against the left sleeve of his uniform. "Provided none of our guests decide to kill each other with the weapons our brilliant admiral saw fit to allow onboard."

It made a certain degree of sense, given that this was a glorified PR stunt to show how willing to cooperate the UED had suddenly become. Jim Raynor needed his blue armor with skull to be recognizable to the galaxy at large, the protoss refused to part with their armor, the turian Spectre outright laughed at the prospect of relinquishing his weapons aboard their vessel…

David's earpiece crackled, making him grimace at what was to likely be the final summons.

"Boss." Joker, more deferential than David felt used to hearing. "Almost set to go – but we've got a small situation. Sarah Kerrigan wants to get on board. She's currently fighting with the security checkpoint outside the hangar. And because – you know – she's a ghost? I'm going to say she's probably winning."

 _I pray he doesn't mean fighting in the literal sense._

"I'll take care of it," replied David, motioning for Shepard to board the ship while he finished up this last bit of unpleasantness. "Joker – I'm on it. Finish up the pre-flight checks and get ready to hail the Admiral. We'll be leaving soon."

David marched across the gleaming floors of the hangar to the main door, through which he could hear muffled shouting. A chill ran down his spine as he walked through the door and the scent of ozone greeted him, followed by the unnatural sensation of every hair on his body standing on end. The red-haired ghost stood in the center of the small metal hallway, fists balled, facing the one way mirror with hopefully metaphorical fire in her eyes.

"I'll say it one. More. Time." She paid no attention to David as he peered through the open door with a sudden lurching in his gut, a primal fear of both known danger and unknown, potentially worse danger both rearing their ugly heads. "Spectre. Authority. That means if I shoot you in the head? No one asks questions. If I tear this ship apart and crash it into Omega Station? People assume I'm in the right. If I walk through the halls snacking necks left and right without lifting a finger? I get a raise for being efficient."

"And then the protoss cut you to pieces, because Spectre authority ends where theirs begins," said David loudly, trying to draw some semblance of courage for the sake of the poor people on the other side of that mirror. Kerrigan cocked an eyebrow as she looked at him, assessing him in both body and mind. _And if I can't keep Fenix out…_

"I am currently the captain of the _Normandy_ , ma'am," said David, resisting the urge to lift his hands as if to ward off a blow. Kerrigan just kept staring at him – and it might have been his imagination, but David swore the room climbed another degree in temperature. "No one boards a ship without the captain's permission. Nor does anything in this galaxy supersede a captain's authority." _Even colonials know that._

Kerrigan snorted, but her posture softened. She shrugged, as if making threats upon the lives of hapless security personnel and crashing ships into space stations were all too ordinary, all too easily dismissible.

"I should be on that ship with … Garrus. And Legion. And Zeratul." Kerrigan cocked her head. "I was part of the team that made this mission possible."

 _Weren't you shagging Raynor at one point? Or the two of you were at least strongly considering it? Does the_ Normandy _need another source of awkward?_

"Aldaris," called out David, knowing the damnable protoss would hear him and arrive in mere moments. Such was the case – the protoss emerged from a bright light on the opposite end of the security checkpoint, his facial expression oddly reminiscent of how David himself felt. _Tired of this drama. Just get it over with._

"Kerrigan. We had hoped to spare you pain." The protoss inclined his head. "We are aware of your worth … as well as your rights. If you wish to board this vessel, I doubt much good will come of it."

"But it's my choice," insisted Kerrigan. David resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Uncertainty. You learn to deal with it, or you end up regretting prodding where you shouldn't. Particularly where relationships are concerned._ "I want to see the center of the galaxy, a just reward for what I went through to take down the Broker. Do you have a good reason to refuse me?"

"Does the captain?" asked Aldaris, looking up to David. "As he has said, he will not be superseded."

David did not resist the urge to roll his eyes this time.

"Come aboard, maintain at least ten feet of distance from both the cockpit and Jim Raynor." David shrugged. "I don't have the time or patience to deal with any more schoolyard squabbling, nor do I want you throwing a psionic temper tantrum aboard either the _Aleksander_ or _Normandy._ Are we clear?"

"We're clear." Kerrigan's voice had grown dead, as if suddenly realizing what she had just bought – a short and unpleasant cruise aboard a cramped ship filled with people who did not like each other. David waved her and the whole situation off, turning and heading for the boarding ramp.

"Joker – one more Spectre for the ride."

"Oh joy." David could not help but crack a savage smile. For an American, Joker managed respectable amounts of sarcasm. "Flight checks completed. Waiting for our illustrious leader – uh, I mean you, in this case. Stukov's already waiting."

 _I always seem to keep that man waiting._ The camera crew parted to the side, filming his entry into the vessel as he climbed the even steps, his boots clanking against the steel. _Looks like Shepard's already back on board._ David could hear Khalisah's words, heard mentions of "historic voyage" and "a leap forward for humanity." It reminded him far too much of the first departure back on Earth. _A jump from which we may not return … but all reasonable precautions have been taken._

The airlock cycled too quickly for David's taste. A blast of quiet yet undeniably tense sound met his ears as the airlock hissed open. _Doubtless Kerrigan is coming through right after me … wonder if Khalisah is just stupid enough to try and stop her for an interview?_

The _Normandy_ , normally relatively quiet and empty thanks to its manageable crew size, now brimmed with unwelcome life. To David's right, the CIC practically brimmed with alien life, outnumbering even the _Normandy's_ flight crew. Grunt stood at Shepard's side, his cold blue eyes probably hiding a brain that was perpetually contemplating violence, looking the hulking figure of Praetor Fenix up and down in what was either admiration or barely masked belligerence.

Detecting an argument, David proceeded towards them, only for Fenix to rear back and headbutt Grunt with full force, his tall figure forcing him to really reach back before going for the krogan's skull. David paused a foot away as Grunt reeled, chuckling while Shepard's lips twitched.

"Taldarin is indeed a mighty warrior – one whom even death could not conquer!" bellowed Fenix. "And from what I hear of Wrex, he would also be a worthy foe! But do not think any of the Firstborn easy to best, young krogan! Pick fights with an uncertain victor."

"Are we about to see protoss and krogan relations deteriorate, or is this handled?" asked David, watching Grunt slowly come to.

"We've established the order," muttered Grunt, eyes unfocused. "I will heed the Praetor's words."

"Is that so hard?" crooned Shepard, walking up to Grunt and rubbing his plate good-naturedly. "Do you need to get your ass kicked every single time before you start listening to people?"

"I am krogan. It is our way." Grunt stomped towards the turbolift, prompting a scowl from the swiftly approaching Navigator Pressly as he tripped and fell sprawling, finally just lying face down in the middle of the CIC.

"Sir – I know this isn't your call to make-"

"Pressly, I know exactly what you are going to say." David held up a hand. "You want an argument, but we'll just end up violently agreeing with each other. But we have our orders. There is no use bitching about them."

Pressly persisted anyway, ticking off his fingers with each complaint. "The volus squawks every time someone trips over him, which happens every other minute, the krogan fights people he feel challenge his nonexistent authority, Samir Duran _really_ should not be allowed on board-"

"You wound me, Navigator." The devil himself appeared from behind David, biting into an apple with relish. "I bear no ill intentions for anyone aboard this vessel. I am as excited as you, to plunge into the black and witness the beating heart of this resplendent galaxy!"

Pressly ignored him. "-and I don't know what the deal with the drell is, but he has spent the entire duration simply meditating in the life support room, claiming he needs nothing. It's unnerving. I really must protest-"

"And now you're done protesting." David shook his head sharply. He pointed to Duran. "You. Out of the CIC." He pointed to Shepard. "You – get the krogan somewhere else. Anywhere." Finally, to Pressly. "To your station. That's an order. We're taking off."

David turned sharply on his heel, just in time to almost collide with Sarah Kerrigan.

"Ten feet from Jim Raynor," he warned, deciding not to point lest he perhaps lose the finger. She frowned at him, but nodded. "Ideally, stay on the other side of the ship from him. Last I checked, he was holed up in the cargo hold. Garrus was checking on the ship's weapons, if you're looking for him. And Zeratul-"

"Will find me, if that's what he wants." Sarah brushed past David, who was only too happy to put that woman behind him. He proceeded to the cockpit, where Joker span in his chair to greet him.

"I really didn't think we'd see you back on this ship as the captain," he said, offering a faint smile. "Thought you'd spend the rest of your days on some flagship, barking orders and reminiscing about all the fun times you berated Jenkins…"

"That's the Gunny's job," replied David, not returning the smile. "EDI? How are we doing?"

"Reaper software integrated with the assistance of guiding protoss intelligences." That made David really grit his teeth. _Leaves me wondering just what kind of crap those alien computers have been spouting to ours. That'd be just what we need: for EDI to go berserk once we jump through the relay, yelling something about the Khala._ "Communicating with all quantum terminals within the Armada. You will be receiving orders second hand from Admiral Stukov. I am also broadcasting live footage to seven major galaxy wide media stations, who are running live events. At present, there are three billion viewers, mostly concentrated in Council space."

"No one will be able to deny what happens here," whispered a cold voice. David turned to see Zeratul lingering outside the cockpit, who looked far bigger in this cramped space than he did while hunched over in the _Spear of Adun's_ political chamber. "I thank you for doing this, Admiral. I pray the discomfort will cease upon witnessing the grandest sight of our lives."

"Thank you." David paused and sniffed, debating whether to give the brusque order to depart and let the captain and helmsman get the hell on with their jobs. Thankfully, Zeratul faded just as he arrived, letting David breathe.

"Flight checks completed, sir." Joker looked up at him, the yellow light of his instruments reflected off his face and hat. "The Admiral told us we were free to uh, "get on with it," if we wanted, but said he was also open to one last hail if you're interested."

"No." David folded his arms behind his back. "We've got three billion people watching, apparently. Joker, EDI – let's give the galaxy what it wants."

"Faster this gets done, faster we get that crazed salarian off this ship." Joker hit a button, and the engine roared to life. From the CIC and beyond, cheering erupted from the crew.

"This is your captain speaking," said David into the intercom. "Be advised that we took on a last-minute passenger in Sarah Kerrigan, and now we are well and truly off. This ship lacks windows or any kind of observation deck, but EDI will kindly provide you with visual representations of what is out there once we are through the relay." David paused. "If you have any questions, it's too late and we probably would not be able to answer them anyway. Lift off!"

The inertial dampeners kicked in, and the _Normandy's_ launch felt all too subtle given the enormity of what they were about to do. Hails popped up from all too many ships as Joker turned the _Normady_ about and made for the vast relay, the one that he heard Omega residents had sometimes referred to as a gateway to hell. _Or the alien equivalents at least._

"Check some of those hails," ordered David, and Joker complied.

"Die for the cause!"

"For Adun!"

"Hold the line!"

"Do not be afraid to suffer!"

"The Enkindlers are with you!"

"Keelah se'lai!"

"Why can't the quarians be translated properly?" asked Joker with some ire at that last one, switching off the blast of alien chatter with a hiss of static. "Maybe I should be thankful. The one down in Engineering kept using this one word, started with a B? It didn't sound nice."

David took one last look over his shoulder at the other crew. Navigator Pressly met his gaze from across the bridge and offered an understated thumb up, which David returned. He looked back at the instruments to see they indicated a swiftly approaching unknown object.

"Seventh relay I'll have jumped through in my life," said Joker. "I've heard that there are colonial pilots out there who've done hundreds in the six years since the galaxy opened up. None like this, though. So uh, I guess I'm catching up."

"You are making history, Mr. Moreau," chimed in EDI. "Five seconds to relay contact."

"No big deal," said Joker, cracking his neck to either side and flexing his fingers. "Here we go."

The ship began to shake slightly, making David's teeth rattle. The hails picked up in quantity as the relay enveloped them in what David could not help but feel were eldritch energies, priming them to be sent hurtling into the abyss. _And hopefully not through a black hole._

"Okay, this is kind of unusual." Joker's voice shook with the ship's, his chest vibrating with the tremors. "We've got recognition though! Taking bets on what's on the other side! We've got three … two … one…"

Jumping through relays remained an unfamiliar experience for David. Everything dilated, his vision stretching as the laws of physics shrugged their collective shoulders and threw in the fucking towel. EDI uttered what might have been words of assurance or simple damage reports over the intercom, but David heard nothing over the hum within his own mind. Time and space flashed past them, incredible distances crossed in fractions of a heartbeat, all they knew and love growing farther and farther away with each passing microsecond…

 _Kahlee … Kahlee I hope I bring back a good story from all this. I hope I get a nice fat pension for the pair of us in the coming years…_

Everything snapped back without warning, leaving David dizzy. He shook his head, trying to clear the blood that had rushed to it, mouthing swear words as he returned his attention to Joker and his instruments.

"Ugh – feel hungover." Joker shook his own head, adjusting his hat as it almost fell off. "Whew! Okay. Okay, we're through. Let's see what we got."

The ship brought up a visual representation of the space before them. Despite himself, David could not help but gasp.

A ship graveyard stretched in every direction, illuminated by the sickly orange light of the countless dying stars that surrounded them. It was the wreckage that surrounded Korhal after the battle, only exponentially greater and more diverse – some vessels had a clear asari, salarian, turian, or even hanar make to them as David peered for a closer look, but others defied both memory and description: simple clear orbs that had been cracked open by some unknown impact, towering ships that possessed far greater height than width, resembling vast hotels rather than spacefaring vessels, and small, rectangular vessels that David doubted could have held more than one person, entirely devoid of markings. _All ruined. All floating eternally in this forgotten place…_

"No signs of life, not that it's much of a surprise." Joker sniffed. "Navigating through. It's uh, it's kinda fortunate they sent us through first. Imagine what would have happened if they brought in the big fuck-off turian and protoss ships."

 _They would have gutted themselves on the corpses of their predecessors._ David exhaled deeply. _Right. Now that it's been avoided…_

"Stealth systems running," Joker flipped a few more switches. "We're a bit overheated from the jump, but it looks like we're otherwise okay. Might take a minute or two to clear the debris field." He clucked his tongue. "Look at all this … how old you reckon some of this is?"

"I imagine some of these ships ended up here while we were still bashing each other with clubs." David shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Viewership of live footage has now reached 3.5 billion viewers," said EDI. "Comments on popular upload sites have indicated a general sense of disappointment or anticlimax."

"Oh, fuck off," said David, forgetting himself for a moment. He coughed and straightened again. Joker knew better than to comment.

"Clearing the debris field." Joker tapped a few more instruments. "Picking up a massive energy signature … yep, there's our wide open space. Looks like it's about two and a half AU across."

"Aldaris," called out David. "Prepare for dimensional recall." _There. That wasn't so bad. Didn't even have to interact with any aliens once we were properly underway._

"Heat signature would seem to be a large space station…" Joker tapped more instruments, his practiced fingers flying over the haptic display. "There is also … one ship. Large. Profile matches the bastards we saw over Korhal … uh, when do the reinforcements get in? I don't think it can see us, but…"

"Aldaris! Dimensional recall!" David waited for a response, but received none. He turned, stomping out of the cockpit. "Aldaris!"

"There is something wrong here." It was Zeratul who emerged from out of nothing, something David was thankfully growing used to. The protoss fell to a knee, his hand reaching for his head. "A vast … weight. Sinking into the emptiness. A heavy stone, lying in the center of the cloth, changing everything around it. There will be no recall here."

"What?" David charged towards the turbolift and hammered the controls, leaving the stricken protoss behind. "Joker! Keep me updated and maintain as much distance as possible from that cruiser!"

David cursed every elongated instant in which the turbolift doors shut, and urged it along further to the cargo hold, where Aldaris conducted his bizarre and apparently ineffectual ritual. With every clunk and groan of the machinery, David's jaw tightened. When he stepped out of the lift to greet the assortment of alien life before him, confusion, fear, and anger all fought on even terms for dominance within his mind.

Aldaris stood frozen before a massive glowing blue crystal, his long fingers stretched over it and twitching in a manner David judged most unhealthy. The others stood around him, some looking at the visual display of the center of the galaxy through their omnitools, others just watching Aldaris with wide eyes.

"A presence," he uttered, not looking away from the crystal. "Vast. We can pull nothing here. Fall back through the relay."

"I can feel it," said Kerrigan, ashen faced. "It's cold."

"Viewership has spiked to 4 billion," reported EDI, making David growl in anger. _What does that matter?_ "The admiral also reports that the Omega 4 relay has gone inactive. Vessels approaching it are no longer being sent coordinates."

"Joker!" David sprinted back for the turbolift, hurtling through the closing doors at the last possible second. "Joker! Back through the relay!"

"Cruiser is approaching our position, sir!" Any trace of sardonicism now vanished from Joker's voice. "Sir, what's going on?"

 _It's a trap!_ But saying that would have done nothing save inspire panic.

"The other side of the relay has gone inactive and we cannot initiate mass recall!" _Damn aliens. We should have known this would fall through!_ "Is our end still open?"

"Back into the debris field…"

By the time David rejoined Joker in the cockpit, Zeratul had vanished again and Joker's face now looked incredibly pale. He did not look to David as he resumed his position behind him.

"That cruiser is doing an awfully good job looking for us given that there should be no indication of where we are." Joker's arms stretched and contorted over the instruments at a frightening pace, betraying a level of anxiety belied by Joker's calm voice. "Approaching the relay."

A few tense seconds went by. No response. Not a hint of any shaking, no sense of weightlessness, not even the faintest hint of a reaction. _Yep. Trap. Has someone spilled the beans? Do the Reapers just like watching news on the telly? Who knows. We appear to be just a little bit fucked._

"Viewership is climbing," continued EDI, still emotionless. David cursed the machine under his breath, mind racing at what could be done, what needed to be done, and what he wanted to do. "It appears you are trapped in the center of the galaxy. Admiral Stukov is conferring with several other leaders over a course of action."

"Joker, do we still have that cruiser on our tail?"

"Yep. We might need to redefine our "stealth ship," because the Reapers certainly aren't fooled by whatever we're doing."

"Hug the debris and prepare to exit the field. I want you to zip straight past their guns and come in from behind." David cracked his knuckles. "They're much larger than us; it'll take some time to turn and use the main gun."

"EDI, kindly keep the admiral informed of our predicament." David held his breath and shut his eyes, thinking of home.

"Additional signatures … oh, _great._ " Joker shook his head. "It's carrying fighters. Switching up tactics!"

David actually stumbled as the ship violently changed direction and speed, even through the inertial dampeners. Crew members shouted to each other through the bridge, the panic all too evident.

"They're small and fast and they don't like us." Joker chuckled darkly to himself. "Right back at you. Weapons prepped."

David checked the visual display, only to breath sharply at how close they were to some of the wrecks, aiming directly for a small – very small, considering the general size of space – gap between two old cruisers.

"Viewership climbing. They appear to appreciate the drama." David cursed EDI under his breath again. The bridge grew deadly quiet as they approached the hole.

"Yeah, whatever's guiding their fighters really didn't like that." The _Normandy_ zipped through with barely a waver, and Joker turned the ship to the right, bearing down directly on the heat signature.

"Three covering the ship. Looks like they're having trouble targeting us." Joker tapped three buttons smartly. "But … we're not having any trouble with them. Locked, locked, and locked. Firing."

Missiles streaked from the visual display, swiftly disappearing from sight and becoming just another series of numbers, steadily increasing as they rushed towards their targets. A ragged cheer went up when they vanished, taking three other sets of numbers with them.

"Closing to point blank range, aiming for the midsection." Joker cackled to himself. "EDI, how's that viewership?"

"Viewers are complaining that space battles are not as exciting as the movies suggested." This left Joker sputtering. "However, there is a substantial subset of viewers also lambasting the former for believing what the salarians have depicted as space battles."

"If they shoot back, then it'll get exciting," growled David. "You won't see monitors exploding and crew members collapsing, though. Everything will just go black, because we'll be _dead._ "

"Closing." Joker waited. The cruiser made a steady about face as indicated by the telemetry, straining to turn to face their elusive foe. Then Joker tapped a few more buttons neatly, and this time about twenty missiles flew into the cosmos and became new sets of numbers.

Joker turned from the cruiser and faced the distant space station, evading its line of fire.

"Those fighters are still on us, but they're well behind." Joker diverted the visual display towards the cruiser whose movement had become erratic – likely because it now broke up below them. "Yeah, they've got a vague idea where we are, but those weapons aren't going to hit anything precise as long as we keep the drive running. Orders, captain?"

 _One disaster averted._ David watched the station coordinates slowly grow smaller. _And we're live…_

"Press for the station and see if you can find us a landing zone." David clapped Joker on the shoulder. "Good work, Lieutenant. Let's give the galaxy some visuals they won't forget."

Heavy footfalls fell behind David. Fenix approached the cockpit, his skin a sickly green.

"Rear Admiral – something approaches!" The protoss's booming voice shook. "From the station, it's-"

"Oh, that's not good." Joker's readings flashed. "Um, something incredibly dense just took off from the station. And uh, I know it's a spaceship, but something about it suggests that it – I mean its crew – is pissed."

"Engage and destroy." David felt somewhat comfortable with that set of instructions, seeing how easily the collector bastards had just been outmaneuvered. "EDI, I expect the viewership to spike. And if the protoss could work their mumbo-jumbo and pull us out of this situation, that would be brilliant. We're inches away from this operation getting completely FUBAR."

"It's moving really fast … sir?" Joker coughed. "Taking evasive action. Priming missiles." Joker's fingers nervously tapped against his armrests. "Almost in range … wait, what?"

David's head snapped to the visual display leaping from his wrist again, just in time for the ship to shudder. The lights flashed red and David actually fell to a knee.

"He clipped us! The bastard clipped us? How the fuck can he do that from that range?" Joker's readings flared, and David bared his teeth. "What the fuck kind of weapon can do that? It crossed the distance in a few fucking seconds!"

"Evasive action, Joker. Do they have a lock on us?"

"No! He's eyeballing it and making educated guesses!" The ship shook again, either from the stress of a sharp turn or a glancing blow, David could not tell. "Firing!"

Looking to the visual display this time made David recoil slightly. Indeed, whatever the ship was, it was firing a stream of _something_ in intervals of about eight seconds, most of which came within only a few dozen kilometers of their location. More worryingly, the distance between the ship and each blast lessened with each subsequent shot.

"Missiles hit!" bellowed Joker, hooting for a second. Then the hooting stopped. "No effect. Vice Admiral, no eff-"

"Take us in to that space station," said David sharply, having a sudden and ugly realization of what they might be up against. He looked to Fenix, who now leaned against the wall and finally looked his four hundred something years of age. "Is that-"

"The true face of our enemy," he replied. "Yes. Would that we could have met him with the full force of our fleets, or better yet, on the ground! There is no cowardice in running here. Ensnared as we are, it is futile to fight on our foe's terms!"

"There isn't exactly a landing strip, Vice Admiral," said Joker, head checking each instrument and reading.

"Then make one! How much longer are we going to last against that thing?" David stared up at his only savior at this point. "EDI! Lend whatever assistance you can! Manual override is permitted!"

"What, you don't trust me?" The ship shook, and Joker's teeth chattered. "Okay, fine, at this point, I wouldn't trust me either. Going in hot; brace yourselves!"

David grabbed on to the cockpit door threshold and hugged it, his fear and desperation overcoming whatever sense of ridiculousness he might have ordinarily felt.

"It's like a fucking wasp nest, sir!" Joker was bent over the controls, trying to fly the ship and prepare for the impact at the same time. "No symmetry – I don't even know where their ships would fly out! EDI?"

"Compensating." The ship's shaking became less violent. "The Reaper vessel appears to have ceased firing. Its profile is also substantially less than both the cruiser and the one reported at the Citadel. Viewership has just passed five and a half billion."

 _Which makes the fact is shrugged off our weaponry even more worrying._ David gritted his teeth, torn between checking the visual display through the omnitool and keeping a firm grip on the threshold. Common sense won over curiosity.

"Here it comes!"

David cried out as the ship lurched and his arms scrabbled against his tether. He held himself in place just barely, and judging from the screams, he was one of the lucky ones. Fenix at least did not budge, his skin glowing slightly as he likely used alternative means to keep himself grounded. Joker too issued a bellow of pain, just barely audible over the deafening screeching of their ship skidding against whatever the fuck the space station was made out of.

The screeching went on for about a full minute, making David's head throb. Finally, the ship came to a jerking halt, just in time for about all of Joker's instruments to flare red. The man pulled his bloody face from against the screens and put his hands to his nose, whimpering softly. With a sigh, the rest of the ship followed suit, rising from whatever consoles they had found themselves slammed against and dusting themselves off.

"Damage report," croaked David, wiping the spit off his chin.

"Overheated. Everything." Joker coughed, and then waved a hand near his face, as if he himself had become overheated. "Uh. Engines need to be looked at. Stealth drive. Weapons. Uh." He shook his head. "Damn it, just had a tune up … point being, sir, that we are no longer spaceworthy. So I hope we weren't planning on running within the next day or so."

"But it is fixable?" Joker only shrugged, dulling the ember of hope in David's chest. He turned his attention to Fenix, who only stared thoughtfully back, focused on his own thoughts. David could not work up the nerve to ask what he was thinking, instead choosing to go to the intercom, which thankfully still seemed to work.

"We have crash-landed aboard the Reaper … collector … whatever, their base, and we will not be spaceworthy for some time." David paused. "I … I am taking any and all suggestions on a course of action. All crew not tasked with repairs, please meet in the cargo bay." David looked to Fenix again, who nodded. "Confer and reconfigure. We aren't dead yet."

"No." Fenix issued a sharp bark of laughter in David's mind. "That we are not."

The CIC was still recognizable, if only barely. Despite David's earlier dismissal of such happening, a few monitors had apparently been broken (if not exploded) by the impact. David called out condolences and reassurances to those he saw, pausing for a moment to call for a stretcher for a poor woman slumped unresponsive at her station. Navigator Pressly hastened to her, his own arm cut and bleeding from who-knew-what.

"I sense no deaths as of yet aboard this vessel," said Fenix, lightening David's mood somewhat. "Perhaps it can still be avoided."

The turbolift stopped twice to allow all manner of support staff, aliens, and the few members of David's ground team to crowd inside, their voices bouncing off each other as they furiously questioned David on what the hell was happening. David did not respond. _This is the only moment I have to think of Kahlee … soon all that will matter is either getting as many of us as possible out of here alive … or doing as much damage as possible before the inevitable passes._

To David's relief the shuttles had not been shifted or even tipped by their violent landing, although cargo crates did now litter the entirety of the room.

The tide of sapience surged from the turbolift and formed a makeshift circle around the center of the room more or less of its own accord. The protoss among them stood higher than the rest, remaining silent in the face of the chaos. Aldaris in particular had his head bowed, his fingers still working over the crystal from before that he now cradled in his hands. David thought he caught a whiff of guilt.

The volus was whining, his tone both aggravated and worrying. The asari watched and listened, only occasionally making a cutting remark. Jim Raynor and Kerrigan stared daggers at each other from the opposite end of the circle, with the turian, Garrus, frequently glancing nervously at the two of them. The geth and quarrian, oddly enough, stood side by side without issue, both of them transfixed on Zeratul, likely hoping for some guidance. David's ground team flanked him, and all of the humans in the room looked to him with wide eyes, tacitly conferring to him the ultimate responsibility of getting them out alive. The pressure on David's chest tightened.

"We are stranded," David said simply, cutting all the chatter with a simple phrase. "We are cut off. We cannot pull in reinforcements from the protoss, likely because the Reaper is working some … witchcraft. The relay is inactive, and even if it were not, our ship will not be spaceworthy for an unknown amount of time, if at all. The space station is presumably filled with hostiles." David paused, and then nodded. "But, as for good news, I'm pretty sure we now have the attention of a solid chunk of the galaxy."

"Viewership has spiked to eleven billion, Rear Admiral," said EDI, making Jim Raynor whistle. "I hope that brings some small comfort."

"So … do they know where we are?" asked Matriarch Aethyta, looking David directly in the eye. "Can we expect boarding parties of any kind?"

"They are empty inside," said Zeratul, slowly standing tall, "and they did not expect a breach of this compound. Security systems are minimal, and I have shrouded this ship to the best of my ability. We will be safe for a time."

"Long enough to escape?" The volus wheezed unhappily, staring up at the big people with masked yet imploring eyes. "I did not wish to come. I told the Hierarch I did not wish to be here!"

"Well, ain't much that can change that at this point." Jim Raynor gave a shrug of his massive armored shoulders. "May as well get over it, try to make as much of this as we can." He met David's gaze. "You ask me, you got a hell of a ground team here. Both your guys and, well, two Spectres. Three protoss…"

"We should make a fight of it!" boomed Grunt, and Fenix echoed an affirmative. He slammed his fists together. "No hiding like cowards for these last few hours! Get out there and make them bleed!"

"A bold course of action, my friend." Duran stepped forward into the circle, smiling. "But … at the very least we should try to get the ship home, to go forward with a goal other than wanton destruction."

"The ground team's helmets can link with EDI to supply visual feed," cut in Shepard, staring at everyone and looking very self-conscious when everyone stared back. "I – I mean that whatever we see, the galaxy will see. If we get something good – and by good I mean horrifying – they wll not forget it. They will all know the Reapers and not something to ignore. Isn't that what we're here for?"

"You want us to go in to take in the sights?" The quarian, Tali. She folded her arms. "Keelah … that's probably what's best at this point. Hiding just means eventually being found. But to strike out … to see what can be seen…"

The turian coughed and stepped forward.

"I know these aren't usually seen as the most reassuring words by non-turians," said Garrus, sweeping his arms across the circle, "but, at times like these, I like to remember our anthem. "Die for the cause." And what cause is greater than the lives of all turians, all asari, all terrans, all hanar, all drell…"

"Do not be afraid to suffer," mumbled Jenkins to David's right.

"The future awaits us!" answered a surprising number of crew.

"I like that one too," admitted Garrus, stepping back into the circle.

"Aldaris?" The protoss looked up at David's words, his fingers still caressing the crystal. "What needs to be done to enable mass recall?"

"The destruction of that abomination," replied the judicator, voice shaken. "That Reaper. It has retreated to the heart of the base. All paths lead to it. And there are other thoughts … dormant ones. Some of your people linger on through the experiments they conducted."

"I can see paths forward," claimed Fenix, thumping his chest plate with a mighty fist. "The way is dark, but not unknowable. Prelate! You must scout ahead."

"I do this for Aiur." The Zeratul inclined his head to David before vanishing into darkness. _Well. If we can get intel._

"Captain?" Shepard's voice. David breathed deep and bade her to continue. "What are our orders? What do you think we should do?"

 _It's not just up to me._ David looked at his passengers, who he had previously regarded with only irritation. Now they looked, for the most part, formidable. _Even the asari._

"Can you fight?" Aethyta looked affronted at his question.

"Let me put it this way, I have lived for nigh on a thousand years, boy." Aethyta shook her head in disgust. "I've tried everything about once. A toddler just asked me if I can fight … yes. All asari can, if pressed. Biotics, you know." She lifted a glowing blue hand, which only glue in azure vibrancy as she lifted it. "Yeah, kid. I didn't bring armor, but the biotics cover that, too. You want me to bleed for my countrymen, I'll put on a hell of a show before the last act."

"Thane, right?"

"I am combat ready." Thane bowed stiffly. "This course of events was unanticipated, but that does not mean it cannot be resolved satisfactorily. I will fight until I am unable."

"That's good to hear." David finally turned to the last person he was uncertain about. "You?" Din Korlack practically jumped at his words.

"I…" The volus wheezed, looking frantically back and forth at everyone present. "I … no. But if you give me a gun, I will not die without trying." _Finally. A reason to almost respect you._

"The rest of you I know either personally or through reputation," said David, stepping into the center of the circle and turning, facing each scared face. "I know you can fight. I know you will not fail yourselves or each other. And in this hour, that's about what we need."

Muttered affirmations echoed through the chamber, a few thank-yous.

"You must lead us," said David, turning to Aldaris and Fenix. "Blaze a path through this darkness, and we will follow you to the best of your ability."

"We are proud to do so." Fenix bowed low. "We … we must lose this habit of referring to you as lesser races. All of us are of equal stature before the Reapers. All of us must win this fight."

"Arm and armor yourselves," said David, pointing to each member of his ground team, and then to the support staff. "Williams, Jenkins, Shepard, and yes, you, Duran, will be going forth. All support staff, Lieutenant Alenko – secure this landing sight with turret and suppression fire. I will not see us flanked and this ship taken while we go forth."

Alenko snapped a salute and all UED personnel began filing to the armory.

"Geth-"

"We are Legion." The geth's flashlight face shined into David's own. "We will assist _Normandy_ crew and allies. We are well acquainted with warfare." This left the quarian.

"Tali-"

"Does this ship come with an SCV?" she asked, surprising David. "I know how to pilot one. And yes, I can fight as well."

"We have one, partially disassembled." David gestured to the scattered crates. "We might need it for repairing the ship-"

"You put me in that, and I'll be able to hold my own, right alongside the protoss." The quarian walked up to David, standing almost to a height with him, to his surprise. "Trust me. Zeratul will back me on this. We … my people can be truly destructive when crewing one of those things."

 _No one's going to lie about their aptitude at this hour._ David wordlessly directed her to the main crates. Before long she crouched over them with a sparking omnitool and two drones at her side, putting together the vehicle at a reassuring speed.

Sarah Kerrigan confronted him next, pulling him to the side with a cocked eyebrow.

"We're probably going to die here," she said bluntly, keeping her voice low. "And your ship doesn't carry ammunition for either Jim's gun or mine. Just to bear that in mind." She lowered her eyes. "But … no trouble from me. Feel like an idiot for forcing myself aboard, especially for…" She paused, and David saw her head twitch in Jim's direction. She maintained control, however. Then she straightened, brightening. "Well. I'll make sure I die hard, at least."

"There is nothing to fear with a course of action decided," said the drell, walking up to David with a poise he could only envy. "It is a good one. I feel nothing except content. I will give it my all."

 _And that's all I can ask. All anyone can expect._

Fenix had vanished up the turbolift, something that did not initially give David pause until the protoss returned … with a familiar looking warhead somehow latched to his back.

"I have visited your torpedo bays!" boomed Fenix, the massive armament jutting from behind his shoulder and making everyone in the room drop whatever they were doing to either stare, back up, or both. "The Reaper must be destroyed, and this requires an explosive device of considerable magnitude. I will carry the device to its objective."

"Are you fucking mad?" asked David flatly, ignoring every rational impulse and running before Fenix, arms held up against him. "You're going to be in combat. If that thing is hit by something with sufficient force and heat-"

"I shield it with both psionics and brain, David Anderson!" Fenix cocked his head. "Do not accuse me of insanity. I will dissolve it personally should I feel my body and mind failing – although in doing so, the likelihood of our actual escape falls to near zero. I do this for Aiur … and for everyone here."

David felt that he could make some kind of argument against bringing a fucking torpedo warhead strapped to the back of a protoss … but the premise was too inherently mad to do anything except wearily accept. Fenix stood at the back of the cargo bay at the doors, waiting patiently for Zeratul's return, and for the mission to begin proper.

"Viewership has climbed to twelve billion, Rear Admiral." EDI's voice, for once, did not inspire fear or hatred in David. If anything, it felt all too reassuring, that one last link to the outside. "The Admiral approves of striking against them, if only for lack of better options. He asks for you to speak to your audience."

"Witness us," growled David, staring up at the ceiling, hoping that was where EDI was watching from. "Witness us and remember. Remember everything you see here. Whether we live or die, do not let us be forgotten. Do not forget that we matched strength with strength, that we did not hide after being initially outmatched."

He couldn't think of anything to say other than that. The cargo bay was now a flurry of activity as the handful of Argent battlesuits were donned by David's ground team and a handful of lucky support personnel. The rest were simply being handed light rifles and a few mags of ammunition.

"It will be an honor to fight alongside you again, Captain." Duran, who still made David's skin crawl, somewhat. He had finally discarded the smile – perhaps this situation proved too much even for him. He inclined his head with what appeared to be true deference. "I hope you believe that. Now – let us send these demons back to the Void from which they spawned."

David clapped the man on the shoulder and he departed, whistling a strange tune.

"Didn't get a chance to talk to you before…" Jim Raynor looked down at David from his CMC armor, his face oddly calm. "Just wanted to say … congratulations on the promotion. Good to see Stukov recognizes talent when he sees it."

"Thank you." David bit his lip, wondering what else to say. "I'm … I'm sorry if the UED has not met your expectations. We will fight and die by your side to the best of our ability, and I assure you it's for unselfish reasons."

Jim shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. He glanced towards the cargo doors, where Kerrigan now stood with Fenix, pointedly not looking at either Jim nor the torpedo.

"You got a girl back home, man?"

David opened his mouth to reply, but only nodded.

"Well, I'm sure she'll be real proud of you for doin' this. I hope you get to see her again." Jim shuffled in place. "I think I gotta make an apology. Told Kerrigan … well. She's made some bad choices, bein' a Spectre. No excuse for what I did. Cuttin' her off. Actin' … superior." His eyes glazed over. "I do that to a lot of people. Did it to the UED, even. To you guys. We're all just … the same … to those Reapers." He extended a massive hand, and David shook a single finger. "Nobody I'd rather be fightin' with, exceptin' maybe my own boys and girls. Kinda wish they were here right now."

"On that, we can quite agree."

David donned his own battlesuit then, clasping the battle rifle with certain hands, feeling its reassuring familiarity and solidity. _These fuckers bleed. That means they die. And if nothing else, they won't expect Fenix to charge in with a torpedo held to his back…_

Zeratul reappeared from the shadows, warp blade drawn.

"They search the halls, these collectors," he intoned to the watching cargo bay. "The paths diverge into two hallways – one short but blocked regularly by thick doors, the other lengthy but only obstructed at the very end." He looked around at everyone, finally settling on David. "We will need two fireteams. One to draw the bulk of the fire, the other to cut through the short path and open all available entrances."

Jim Raynor hawked and spat. Garrus calmly calibrated his gun. Duran smiled and tipped his beret. And Tali – Tali clambered into the SCV, the cockpit visor coming down. The SCV's drill whirred into life.

David pulled the bolt back. He knew exactly who he needed doing what.

The viewership spiked yet again.

* * *

 **Here we go.**


	50. Strange Bedfellows

**Tali'Zorah**

"System's green." Tali swiped the readouts out of her face and repositioned her arms and legs. The machine responded accordingly, its own metal limbs twitching with the new input. "SCV ready."

 _And the pilot?_ Tali shut her eyes for a moment, trying to envision what and who she was fighting for. All around her she could only see alien faces. Some she knew personally of course: Zeratul, Fenix, Aethyta … even Legion. Others, only by reputation: Raynor, Kerrigan, Mordin Solus. The rest, not at all. _You wanted to send your daughter to the center of the galaxy. Oh, what a story to rub in the other admiral's faces … what are you thinking right now, Father?_

 _And the others. Reegar, Daro'Xen, Veetor, everyone else now circling Tarsonis and marveling at the garden world we have been gifted … I suppose I will not be seeing it again._ Tali shifted, the SCV clanking its sizable metal feet against the _Normandy_ floor. She reached back and felt for the butt of her shotgun, reassuringly firm and solid-feeling. Her heart pounded from her chest, but the controls were responsive to her every movement. She sweated beneath the suit, but it was not as if she was without friends and allies around her. And, if nothing else, at least she had more layers of armor than everyone else about to descend into vicious combat. The SCV's engines hummed and whirred. _I wonder if the zerg queen is watching this, if she and the others back in Umojan space are cheering me on…_

"Alright people, this is it!" The UED admiral and his men stacked up at the far end of the cargo bay, pressing themselves directly against the walls adjacent to the ramp. Their weapons and armor glinted in the dim lighting, and their worried faces could not be seen beneath their thick face-encompassing helmets. "Form up and get ready!" Tali walked her machine forward, saving the jump jets for when she would really need them. The relative safety of the cargo bay did not seem the time.

"There is a great deal to fear here, Tali'Zorah," said Zeratul, and Tali suspected from the way no one else reacted that only she could hear his voice, "but these creatures underestimate the resolve of the peoples of this galaxy. Be proud: the whole galaxy will see what all races can accomplish when they are truly unified beneath one banner." Tali shut her eyes again, nodding to herself and taking deep breaths. From behind, a shout and a cry went up as, at last, it truly began.

The _Normandy_ ramp descended with first a groan and then an almighty clang, letting the murky amber light from beyond creep in. The people around her, their heads barely visible from her perch within the cockpit, uttered a muffled cry and ran forward, some stopping just before the ramp and taking up defensive positions, others following the lead of the protoss.

"Lieutenant," barked the sharp voice of the UED leader from Tali's helmet, the one they called Anderson. "Seal the ramp if the situation gets extreme. You're in charge of the defenders. Aldaris – if there's anything you can do for them without exposing yourself…"

"I will lend what assistance I can." Tali nodded at the judicator's words, wondering how bad the situation was going to get. _Well, we're not dead. And the whole galaxy's going to sit up and pay attention to this._ The SCV thudded forward, following the illuminant figure of Fenix, warhead still latched to his back. While the bulk of the attacking forces headed left through the upward passage to make as much noise as possible, Tali followed the Praetor as closely as she was able.

"All teams: follow the protoss's lead. Everyone with a cam on their helmet: provide frequent verbal reports of what you are seeing. We are running on a forty second delay – if the bastards are watching it's not going to matter too much. What does matter is that climbing viewership."

"The hive stirs," muttered Zeratul, his voice sounding as if he were directly behind Tali rather than climbing the higher passage to the slaughter. "They will circle and soon strike. We cannot falter. We cannot retreat. Sweep them aside and make for the exit with all speed."

"Stay alive out there, Tali." Aethyta saluted and then waved her off. "If we all die doing this, I expect we'll never hear the end of it."

The right passage glowed with the faint amber lighting Tali now associated with the center of the galaxy. The walls and floor made her feel vaguely ill – comprised of a mix of extremely smooth metallic material melded with what looked like a rough insectoid substance, Tali could find no lines of symmetry or attempt at artistry, concluding swiftly that whoever built this station had not cared.

The short passage sloped downward into a much larger room, from which the sounds of active whirring machinery echoed through the bizarre halls. Glowing aquamarine tubes crisscrossed the ground they traversed, providing an eldritch tripping hazard for those on the ground. Foul steam rose from the ground and began to fog the cockpit visor, prompting Tali to anxiously activate a countermeasure to stop it. Fenix and the strange terran known as Duran were the first to make their way inside, Legion, Raynor, and Thane covering them from the back. The Praetor lifted a mailed fist, his blade sliding from it and casting harsh shadows before him.

"They come!" he called out, turning his head up high. "Protect the SCV! Advance!"

"Minor tactical consideration for the lot of ya," said Raynor as he trotted forward, the light from the front of his gun waving crazily as he moved to cover. "Back on Korhal, these sons of bitches sometimes lit up and started saying crazy shit. Whatever it was, it gave 'em powers. Worth killin' em quick when that happens." He paused, the skull on his visor turning to look up at Tali as she moved past him on heavy legs. "And uh, if there's two of 'em, they can make archons. And we can't really deal with that."

"Target prioritization adjusted accordingly." Legion joined Raynor behind a large stretch of pipe. "Alert: motion sensors indicate inbound ground contingent. Adjusting for terran vernacular: targets emerging from above at four and nine o'clock."

Tali's own readouts lit up. She pressed forward in her craft, following the shining light of Fenix across the stretch of the strange room with as much as speed as she could urge out of the SCV. Loud buzzing filled the room.

Tali's head jerked as something shot through the cockpit windscreen, cracks spreading from the sudden hole like bolts of lightning. The croaking voices of the station's owners reverberated from all directions, their meaning unknown. At least their intent was clear.

"Left side, above!"

Raynor's rifle chattered while the others' cracked. Tali desperately wished she could turn her SCV to look in any of the available directions, and indeed her head twisted and turned to take in as much as she could of her surroundings, but it was only an instinctual reaction. She could only see what was in front of her; a threshold to the next room, blocked by a thick door.

"I am at the first obstruction!" she called out, drawing a hand back and activating the drill. "Lieutenant Alenko – you're sure this will cut through?"

"Given enough time, why not?" Alenko sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth. "Sir, perimeter is established. We'll hold out for as long as we can."

Tali grunted and pressed her hand forward with as much tension as she could manage. The massive blast door sparked and flared as the drill met the obstruction with great protest, the shrieking filling Tali's ears and making her wince. The drill still sank inside the metal, slowly but undeniably.

" **Establishing commensal link."** Tali only pressed her hand in further, guessing this was what Raynor had been talking about beforehand. The drill sank in, the resistance finally giving way as Tali pushed to the other side, her SCV nearly elbow deep.

"That one! Kill that one!"

The drill broke through and Tali pulled back.

"Legion! Other side!" She turned as quickly as her clumsy machine allowed, twitching as tiny projectiles peppered the cockpit windscreen again, their velocity thankfully somewhat broken by the visor, which was designed to resist and withstand micrometeorite impacts.

The collectors did not look so fearsome from where Tali sat at her controls. Some stood taller in power armor, but they still ducked their heads as Raynor laid down suppressive fire while Duran and Thane took accurate potshots against them. They still cried out and retreated when Fenix fell upon them, blades whirring, his battle cry ringing through the minds of all present.

As Legion darted past Tali and into the smoking open hole she had rent in the colossal blast door, a glowing figure flitted in from above. The air rippled with gold where it flew on iridescent wings. Fissures of deep amber ran through its carapace and fire leapt from its two sets of eyes. It carried no weapon, yet when it looked to Tali she felt that same familiar horror she always experienced when she had a gun levelled in her direction.

" **Quarian. Unexpected."** The barrier around the creature pulsed as Duran fired off three rounds into the creature's burning head to no effect. Its wings stilled and it fell to the ground with a thud. Fenix, roaring, charged it immediately, only to be held in place with a glowing palm. The continued small arms fire did not deter it. It took a heavy step towards Tali.

With a growl of her own, Tali charged forward, activating the boosters on the back of the SCV and lifting her left hand. The SCV's claw arm whirred and rotated, blurring with motion. The strange collector lifted another palm-

Tali brought the claw in a sweeping arc across the glowing bosh'tet. She jerked at the momentary resistance of the barriers flaring, but they crumpled soon after. The collector went flying, trailing ash and smoke as it went. When it collided with a steaming pipe jutting from the ceiling, it burst apart, leaving only flakes of steaming carapace raining from the ceiling like the leaves back on Tarsonis. _Fight. For that, keep fighting!_

"We are through. Brute force hacking maneuver successful." Tali turned amidst a small chorus of cheers to witness the blast door, hole still smoking, rise into the ceiling. Muzzle flashes from the other side quickly dimmed Tali's sense of accomplishment however, and she moved forward, Fenix keeping pace.

"Heavy resistance on our end – no casualties but we're getting there." Anderson's voice, breathing harsh and a cacophony of gunfire audible across the link. "Alenko? Fenix?"

"First stragglers are through – turrets picked them apart. Quiet at present."

"We are engaged in glorious combat!" Tali could not help but utter a wheezy chuckle at the contrast between the two reports. "Even Tali'Zorah, locked in the SCV as she is, has crushed one of the possessed collectors! We make good progress, and will soon be at the second door."

The next room looked much the same as the first, save for a heavy set of steaming pipes on the left that ran through both walls. Even through two filters Tali thought she caught a whiff of something rank coming from them, but there was little time to dwell on that. The collectors crouched behind chunks of metal that rose haphazardly from the earth, from yet more piping that wormed through the base like enormous veins. Others came from above.

Tali grunted as her barriers flared and more ominous cracks appeared on her windscreen, further inhibiting her vision. She activated the jets again, lifting from the ground and surging over the heads of the collectors. Her vision juddered as she heard a thud, likely a collector forgetting to duck and being summarily decapitated by her SCV. Fenix bellowed an encouragement as he crossed the threshold behind her, hopefully followed by Raynor and the others.

" **Establishing commensal link. Harbinger, they make progress."**

" **Assuming direct control."**

"Now they are two," reported Thane, voice as calm as if he were sitting in a tea shop rather than wading across a battlefield. "I will take the female. Focus fire on the other."

The SCV readouts shrieked with warnings as the collectors fired into the back of the SCV. Tali tried to control her heart rate at the numbers she was seeing, focusing on the task at hand. _This door looks even thicker … keelah, hope I'm wrong…_

"Get their fire off the sceevee!" Raynor bellowed, his command followed by the staccato of his gauss rifle. "Fenix!"

Tali pressed her hand forward with far greater urgency this time. The drill almost glanced off the door at her speed, but still it found purchase. Tali waved away the damage reports with her free hand, breathing harsh. The cracks slowly spread across the cockpit window.

"Almost through!" she called out, the resistance lessening. The drill squealed as the last few inches of solid metal gave way. "I'm through!"

Tali wheeled about in place, only to be immediately greeted with another flare of her barrier and more cracks across the plate. _Bosh'tets! Enough of this!_ She lifted a leg and kicked out. The shield gave way with a crash, falling to pieces at Tali's swift blow, reaffirming what Tali suspected about its integrity. She reached around for the butt of her now unfolding shotgun and pulled it free, levelling it with her left hand.

 _Boom._ A wounded collector's head sailed off its shoulders. Tali lifted her drill arm to fend off the incoming fire as she stepped forward again, taking aim with what little vision she had. She lowered the arm. _Boom._ A collector stumbled backwards, speaking in its clacking speech as it struggled to maintain hold on its weapon. _Boom._ It fell to the ground, blood spurting from half a dozen holes.

"We are inside," reported Legion. "They have heavily secured the next room. Requesting immediate assistance once door is open."

"Keep advancing!" yelled Raynor. "Hell, Fenix – it's like Thessia, except the zerg brought guns this time!"

Tali could not keep track of Fenix's movement, only his blades. They swirled and arced while trailing blue, leaving only severed limbs and mangled bodies behind them. Fenix himself boomed proclamations about the Khala's inevitable victory over the darkness with each collector that fell, his will unbroken by their grim surroundings and the unending tide of opposition. The possessed collectors did not perturb him in the slightest – one fell to a flurry of ferocious strikes that sent its ash in all directions. The other tried to match his psionics with a lifted golden hand, only to be shot in the back of the head three times by an unseen figure, likely Duran. It vanished with a whispered promise of return.

Duran too, proved difficult to track. He would fade out of sight like a shadow, only to reappear as a silhouette behind a muzzle flash. His work was quiet and precise; where Fenix left a large amount of evidence behind him and issued challenges with each enemy slain, Duran's handiwork was marked only by a collector suddenly reeling backwards with a fresh gaping hole in their head.

Jim Raynor moved from cover to cover in the same manner Kal'Reegar would, with that same swiftness and purpose. _Born to combat, just like him._ Lacking the precise weaponry of the others, his forays out of cover meant firing quick bursts in the general vicinity of the enemy, generally doing little except exhausting their barriers and letting someone else take advantage of their temporary weakness. Occasionally he got lucky and scored a series of chest blows that left a collector gurgling on the floor in a pile of its own viscera. Other times he got unlucky, and Tali would hear a stream of gibberish that she assumed were untranslated terran swear words.

Thane made Tali ashamed of her own clumsy maneuvering both inside the SCV and out. He moved as if made of fluid, seeming to lack a spine or really any kind of bones as he nimbly leapt to and from cover, bearing a rifle of unfamiliar make that melted collector armor like wax with a stream of energy. At one point as Tali continued her frenzied plunge into the fray, Thane found himself confronted by a collector at close range. As she turned her claw in preparation for digging him out of that mess, Thane neatly sidestepped the collector's swipe with a strange dagger and jabbed at it with three precise strikes – two to the somewhat indeterminate juncture between its head and chest, and once to the face itself, doubling the creature over. He finished it with a single luminous rifle shot directed downwards and then stepped away from his task without a word or second thought. _You don't need a powered suit to fight these things on their own terms, apparently._

"We have opened the door and suffered some platform damage." Tali wheeled about again to face the calming sight of the second blast door lifting. The hail of gunfire from the other side quickly dimmed her enthusiasm, however. "They are reinforcing."

Tali charged forward again on the jump jets as Raynor let forth a ragged cheer and cough. _Have to get the third one open._

" **Further intervention is warranted."** The female Reaper, or whatever it was, its possessed body beating its iridescent wings furiously as it descended with a retinue of much larger collectors than Tali had seen previously. **"Harbinger, this is the offensive to blunt."**

" **Prepare for merge."** From the back of the room behind a steaming rancid pipe, a collector lifted into the air, writing with what could easily have been pain or ecstasy. Its eyes burst with gold, great glowing cracks suddenly winding their way through its skin. The other possessed collector made an immediate beeline for its fresh partner.

"Abominations," growled Duran through the radio, using a much lower, almost guttural voice that Tali had not heard him use before. "Twisting the form of a once proud species … corrupting the spirit underneath. Take one of them out, now!"

Tali activated the jets again, careening over the heads of the worthless collector blockade and simultaneously being rewarded with a low fuel warning. The two beings looked up just in time for Tali's claw to smash down on top of one of them, crushing the body beneath its weight. The other lifted a hand and Tali jerked with pain, gasping at the sound of shattered barriers.

" **This hurts you."** The remaining possessed collector, the one known as Harbinger, crushed his burning fingers and made Tali scream at the alarming rush of heat. Her suit barked all manner of warnings at her while the SCV also tried to get her attention regarding the searing temperature. The chair beneath her bubbled and popped…

With a bang Harbinger jerked backward, not out of surprise, but out of simple force. Legion stepped forward with a lengthy smoking rifle pressed against its shoulder, single flashlight head staring directly into the eyes of Tali's tormentor. The heat abruptly vanished from the area, leaving Tali gasping and sweating in place as she watched Legion eject something small and steaming from the back of the gun before firing again, cracking Harbinger's skull open and turning him to ash once again.

"The door, Creator Zorah." Legion only pointed to the objective before leaving. Tali did not miss the not insignificant amount of clear fluid dripping from the front of Legion's chassis. _Thank you. I'm … I'm glad you can't feel pain._

The controls complaining of the heat and her own suit feeling much less safe than it had done a minute ago, Tali adjusted her SCV and pointed it towards the door, which she could not help but note appeared much larger than the previous two. SCV whining and complaining at her every commanded move, she pushed the whirring drill against the door and pushed with all her might, trying to ignore the smoke now rising from the joints of the machinery.

" **Establishing commensal link."**

" **Assuming direct control."**

"Take them down!"

Tali gritted her teeth and pressed harder. Something popped within the SCV drill arm, but the bit still slowly wound its way inside the thick metal, thin strips of it flying off as it dug in deeper.

"We have hit a dead end on our side!" The UED admiral, sounding frantic. "Zeratul says it links up with yours. We need it open – we're hemmed in!"

Tali pushed harder, only to hear a louder pop and a burst of smoke. The drill went dead. When Tali pulled the arm free of the hole, it fell free of the arm and to the floor with a rather final thud.

"Drill's dead!" barked Tali, pulling her shotgun from the side of her seat once again and backing away from the door. The sweat ran freely now beneath the suit, stinging her eyes, into her joints and making them itch. "Legion? Fenix? What should we do?"

"I will not let a door be the end of us!" bellowed Fenix with genuine outrage. "I will cut the rest of the way myself! Buy me time! Do not die while I finish this!" Fenix ripped a collector's head free of its shoulders and tossed it angrily aside, blurring as he advanced to the unstoppable door, warhead still latched to his back.

"Acknowledged." Legion fired another round with his elongated rifle, another steaming something flying loose from the back end of it. "Raynor-Captain, we will cover your retreat. We are not seeing any signs of Reaper possession."

"Don't jinx it, man." Raynor sprinted forward, head ducked while the gunfire raged all around him. He slid behind a pile of strange whistling machinery and pointed his gun back into the fray. "Duran!"

Tali activated her omnitool and snapped off a spiraling incineration blast in the direction of the chittering hordes. Duran, cloak apparently drained, took the same path Raynor did, limping noticeably but still maintaining a decent clip. Tali fired three swift shotgun blasts at a large collector aiming at him, forcing it under cover. It uttered an insectoid and incomprehensible protest and aimed for Tali. When the controls only responded with a whine and another bevy of smoke, Tali dove out of the pilot's seat, just in time to see the spot she was sitting in be hit by a stream of molten metal.

Rolling against the ground, she activated her drone and took up position next to Legion, whose chassis looked even worse than Tali had feared, riddled with smoking holes across the front. It did not act any the worse the wear, however, popping out to fire its oversized rifle without any hesitation or fear.

From the back, Fenix drove his blades again and again into the smoking ruin within the hole Tali had created, stopping only occasionally to upend a collector with his telekinetics and then send it hurtling out of sight.

From the other side of the room, golden honeycomb shields appeared, shielding the enemy combatants from harm. They advanced with relentless precision now, their bursts of chittering sounding surgical and devoid of any kind of fear or surprise. Every time Tali leaned out of cover to aim at one, it was only to be suppressed by another from the side.

" **Assuming direct control."**

" **Establishing commensal link."**

Two collectors side by side lifted into the air, free from the cover of the pipe they hid behind, but still hidden safely by a golden shield.

"Bring it down!" yelled Duran, the shields flickering as his rounds failed to punch through. "Raynor, Legion, Tali, anyone!"

Tali aimed square at the shield and fired three times, her gun promptly overheating at the abuse. The shield remained in place, rippling at the impacts from Raynor's gauss rifle, but not breaking. The two collectors fell to the ground. Their hands met.

"By Adun," gasped Fenix, pulling away from his task. The air distorted, everything in the room seeming to bend and begin to stretch towards the swirling golden vortex where the two collectors once stood. "Fall back from it. Now!"

Tali backpedaled, firing into the vortex only to witness the unwelcome familiar sight of plasma shields flickering at the impact. _Keelah. Oh no._ Even the other collectors seemed dismayed at the sight of their impending victory, retreating into the floor above with a chorus of high-pitched chittering, apparently discomfited at the sight of the infant archon, swiftly maturing.

Something shapeless and terrible could be glimpsed from within the strange energies, and Tali tore her eyes away from it only with difficulty. Fenix's legs now dangled from the gaping hole, the muffled sound of something burning emanating from within. Thane still tried, without fear or success, to melt through the archon's shields, but Duran had apparently been fully unnerved and only pounded on the door with one free hand while holding his rifle with the other.

"Not like this," he muttered, voice low. "Not at the hands of…"

"I am through!" Fenix's legs disappeared as he pushed himself through the other side. "Crawl through! The archon will not be able to fit – we may have some time!"

"Ladies first," said Raynor, jerking his rifle back to the smoking hole. Tali complied immediately, trying to ignore the way the light seemed to bend as the creature completed its gestation…

She struggled her way through the hole as swiftly as she was able. The last foot or so was far more narrow and jagged – Fenix's rough handiwork rather than the SCV's. She fell to the floor without grace and righted herself. Another similar door occupied her left, past Fenix, and heavy gunfire could be heard from the other side. A small console sat to the side of the door, and Tali hurtled towards it without any prompting from Fenix.

Her omnitool jacked in to the console without any difficulty, something Tali found strange. Both the hardware and software proved undeniably familiar, as if based on some kind of amalgamation between all non-Koprulu species she knew. Aspects of it reminded her of asari firewalls, while the interface itself would not have looked out of place at some cutting-edge salarian firm. Following Legion's example, she attempted the brute force approach, overwhelming the surprisingly minimal security.

"Door's opening!" The sound of gunfire and explosions on the other side abruptly climbed in volume. The air flashed with the sudden onslaught of introduced discharges, and the people on the other side fell through, their armor scorched and bloody, their eyes wild.

"Must get all through before shutting door!" The salarian, crouching at the threshold and laying down accurate fire with an SMG. "Potentially problematic. Williams, Jenkins!"

"First in, last out!" The two marines backed in through the door, the smaller of the two brandishing a smoking minigun, the other a lengthy gauss rifle. "Hit it!"

Kerrigan and Garrus waited in the far back, eyes pressed to their scopes, their guns going off only irregularly to take advantage of opportunities only they could see. As Tali hammered at the controls of the door, urging them to shut faster, the last of her own team fell through the door she had emerged from, coughing and urging her onward.

"Legion, next section!"

The main door slammed shut, locking the horde of collectors out on the other side. Tali drove an omnitool infused fist into the controls, hoping it would dissuade the door from opening too easily again. As she breathed a sigh of relief, the ground rumbled, and the temperature rose again.

Tali turned, feeling the dread crawl up her spine. The air shimmered with gold, with heat. The door from which she had come from began to smoke, the center of it glowing cherry red. From the other side, something uttered words of such a deep bass that it defied Tali's ability to actually understand its meaning. All it did was make her teeth chatter and her bones ache.

"Don't think we're gonna be outrunning that thing for long," gasped Raynor, leaning against a wall, visor up and face white. He clutched a bloody wound in his side. Tali rushed to him and offered her shoulder, which he took. Even with the added weight of his power armor, it wasn't too hard to walk him forward.

"Door is open." Legion's head twitched and refocused on the door behind them, which now began to run and melt from the heat being applied to it. The searing temperature that came off of it was astounding, forcing Tali and the others to back up from it as the air distorted. "The structural integrity of this door is no greater than the ones before it. We will not be able to outrun the archon."

"We lack the armament to properly combat it as well." Zeratul, crouched against the ground, a bloody gash running across his brow. "Running may not be sufficient, but it is all that is available to us."

The door smoked and ran. The edges of something terrible could be seen flickering from the other side. An angry flame, alive and all-consuming. It pounded hard on the door, and sheets of twisted metal fell from it.

"Running is a coward's game," muttered Grunt, but he fell behind the final door and line of defense just like everyone else. And like everyone else, he averted his gaze from the abomination that pursued them, at the way it seemed to suck in light and matter around it…

"Seal the door. Buy us time." Legion complied, destroying the console with a well-placed pistol shot before slipping through to the other side.

"We have to hold it." Fenix nodded to Zeratul, and the two of them lifted their arms and stood forward, as if pressing against some hidden weight. Some manner of shield appeared over the door, shifting and luminous. "Judicator, lend us your strength! Give us the time we need!"

Whether Aldaris responded or not, Tali could not say. She leaned against a pillar and slid down, head pounding and hands shaking.

As soon as the door shut and the protoss sealed it, something went out of the people assembled on the other side. People slumped against walls or sat atop the pods, typically expelling a loud gasp of air. Only Mordin Solus and the medic retained some kind of presence of mind, making the rounds to briefly check everyone present.

"Tali'Zorah. No suit punctures?" The salarian lifted Tali up by the arm and checked her over. "Vitals strong? Temperature normal?"

"I'm fine." Tali nodded to the salarian, noting the way his eyes darted to the vital points, even the non-obvious ones in the legs. "Haven't met too many aliens with any experience with quarian physiology."

"Doctor. Job to know. Studied species turian, asari, and batarian…" The doctor paused with a hand to his face, thinking. "Will move to others. Weathering storm well, looks like. Try to help others cope. Keep up good work." He sniffed. "Shame about SCV. No casualties yet. Hope this continues."

"Come on," said Anderson, rising. "We're not done yet, and that archon isn't going to wait. We need to figure out our next move. Fan out and look for exits."

The rest could not last long, everyone knew this. Gradually, as Shepard and Mordin patched up the wounded with a mix of nanites and basic medical knowledge, they spread out and looked through the room, glancing back with fear at the door from which they came. Orange light slid through the cracks…

"Your viewership has reached 30 billion," said EDI, prompting a few mutters. "Viewer consensus is that they are surprised at the lack of casualties, with most of them attributing it to the rear admiral being "a thresher maw that walks like a man.""

Grunt barked with laughter at this, but the rear admiral waved off the compliment irritably. "Stay alert and keep an eye out for potential paths onward. I don't think the protoss are going to be able to hold that door for too long."

Tali stopped by Legion, who had paused to work on his elongated rifle. One of the fingers on his right hand was absent, and the wound wept omnigel freely.

"Thank you." Tali leaned down and stared the geth right in the face. "You … you don't give up on your creators, do you?"

"The protoss have taught us that our value in faith, in hope, was not entirely illogical." The eye whirred and clicked. "We would like to think they have prompted similar values in creators."

Tali opened her mouth to respond, only to sense someone standing behind her. When she turned and rose, it was to find the medic, green visor down, looking at the pair of them.

"A wonderful moment to catch on camera," she said, and walked away. Tali followed her exit with a mixture of trepidation and strangely fierce pride. _Bosh'tet, that wasn't for others to see. But … it was genuine. And maybe it will give others pause. Legion at least is not so bad. For a geth._ Tali left Legion working on his rifle, returning to the search.

Darkness permeated the halls they found themselves in, and beyond the terror waiting beyond the threshold behind them, not a hint of the collectors could be seen. Strange pipes wound through the walls and floor and climbed into the ceiling, dripping with strange liquid from within that clung to Tali's gloves with the consistency of snot.

All around them, strangely familiar pods lay in odd recesses apparently built for them. Others lay across the floor as if having been contemptuously discarded. Every one that Tali checked were empty, but she could not help but feel that they had not always been.

"These pods," said Tali, pushing herself up from one and realizing something. "They were on Eden Prime. Legion and Zeratul … they used these to carry prisoners."

"That would explain why this one is occupied, then." Garrus kicked one lightly with his foot. "Terran, male. Blue Suns." He tutted. "They didn't even take his armor off for his nap. That has to be uncomfortable." _Blue Suns?_

The door issued a muffled boom. Dark words spoken in a dark language echoed from beyond. _We're running out of time._

"Two! Got another one here!" Sarah Kerrigan leaned down and wiped the glass in the front of one of the pods lying on the floor. As it was the closer of the two, Tali approached in time to see the obscured figure being revealed. "It's … oh my God."

A terran female – blonde of hair, and clad in armor greatly similar to that worn by Duran. As others approached, some froze, apparently recognizing the individual, even as Tali did not.

"Nova?"

* * *

 **Next Chapter: James**


	51. The Inevitable Beckons

**James**

 _I looked for you at Korhal. You weren't there._ Jim shifted his gun upwards, resting it against his armored shoulder. His body under the suit ached fiercely; the wounds might have been quickly stitched together with Shepard's nanosutures, but that didn't stop them from stinging something terrible. For a moment though, the pain and terror of their circumstances could be forgotten as Sarah and Garrus lifted Nova from the pod like a child from a cradle. The blonde woman shook and coughed fiercely, her hair weighed down from sweat. When she looked about, her eyes did not seem to register.

"Not again," she said, voice shaking. "You promised you'd kill me, you promised. Not like the others. Hasn't it been enough?"

"They took her sight," said Sarah, looking down at her fellow Spectre with an indiscernible expression – certainly not the naked compassion Jim was hoping for. "Nova – look with your mind. This is a rescue." _Well, now it is. Sort of._

"Is Saren here?" asked Nova, making Jim start. "No … no. That's Garrus. And – protoss?" Nova coughed again before giving a weak chuckle. "And UED … so maybe my brain isn't safe after all."

"You're safe with us, ma'am." Rear Admiral Anderson maintained a stony expression, his lips rapidly thinning. The small lens to the left of his helmet glinted, making Jim wonder just how the galaxy would react to this find. "How did you get here?"

"You've already guessed." David's expression turned to a heavy frown, his face now looking almost skull-like. "Mengsk needed allies at Korhal. You were there … Anderson. And Raynor." A sickening chill ran through Jim's stomach. Nova's head turned to face him, her unfocused eyes scanning him up and down in a manner most disturbing, given that she could not actually see him. "Never thought I'd meet you up close. Always figured it would be far away, from the back of the head, through a scope."

"You and me both, darlin'." Jim stared down at the ghost, unsure of what to feel. _On the one hand, she was fully prepared to kill me during the course of her career. On the other … she might be the last person Arcturus Mengsk screwed over before I put a bullet through his head. And the whole galaxy knows the man for the true monster he was._ A weight lifted from him, an invisible pressure retreating from his mind. _No regrets._ "I shot the bastard who betrayed you, by the way. You're welcome."

"Did I say thank you?" Nova chuckled again weakly. "The Collectors reached out to Mengsk. They wanted me. In return, they would lift the siege at Korhal. He … didn't tell me the first part of that arrangement."

"Filth." Everyone turned to Duran after he said this, an uncharacteristic snarl present on his face. Nova turned to look at him, sucking in a sharp intake of breath.

"There's something on your face … Duran." Nova cocked her head. "Never thought I'd see you up close either. You look different from the pictures I saw of you."

"My line of work has necessitated numerous memory wipes … as well as occasional facial reconstruction." Duran did not smile as Jim expected, his face remaining instead a mask of anger. "This is not the time for it. The enemy reinforces the barricades ahead, and the archon lingers on the threshold."

"So … this is a botched rescue then?" Nova sighed. "If any of you can spare a gun, I can still see them, more or less … and I know the way to the center." Her face contorted. "Just … promise me a bullet if it looks like they're going to win and I can't do it myself."

"The big protoss is carrying a nuclear bomb on his back." Garrus pulled a pistol free from his holster, flipped it around and handed it to Nova. "No one's taking anyone alive today. It's a mass effect pistol, so don't worry about running out of ammo. Just worry about friendly fire while you shoot a pistol totally blind."

Nova smiled. "Garrus. Guess you were Spectre material all along. Thank you."

"There is still the matter of the other." Thane tapped the other occupied pod with a light finger. "It seems irresponsible to free only the one we recognize."

"Is there time?" asked Duran, glancing back to the shimmering forms of the protoss, their hands still outstretched. The air around them distorted as Jim looked, and Zeratul slid back an inch, moved by some invisible force.

"Jenkins, help Thane crack it open." David shot a dirty look at Duran before stepping forward and staring down at the unknown figure. Jim took up a position alongside him, somehow still feeling the smaller man in that moment despite dwarfing him in the armor. The pod hissed open, and the man stirred immediately, a muffled "goddamn" escaping through the visor.

"I know that voice." Jim leaned over and grasped the man by the blue shoulder, pulling him up and out of the pod. The Blue Suns soldier at first protested weakly before gripping back with surprising strength, helping Jim leverage his body to the floor, where he sat up against the pod. The visor slipped back, revealing the expected grizzled face.

"Fuck me," gasped Zaeed Massani, face clammy, head swiveling within the suit. "Lights too bright. Goddamn … where am I?"

"Center of the galaxy, sir." Anderson kneeled down next to Jim, scanning the man's face. "You were captured. Do you remember where?"

"Eden Prime," said Tali, starting suddenly. "We saw you taken! Veetor had a recording…"

"Eden Prime," confirmed Zaeed weakly. His eyes at least seemed to work, although Jim could detect physical weakness from the sloppy posture of his suit. "Hit by these bug bastards. Center of the goddamn universe you said?" He stared David up and down. "What the bloody hell kind of uniforms are those? And ... are those fucking protoss?" His head jerked left and right. "What the hell kind of freak show rescue is this? Goddamn drell?"

"Is everyone going to complain about being freed from these pods?" asked Garrus, exchanging a glance with Sarah, causing a weird surge in Jim's chest.

"The rescue is unconventional, Mr. Massani." Duran smiled down at the man, who grunted back and stared at him. "For one, it is entirely accidental that we stumbled upon you. For two, it is not a rescue. We are all likely to die here, particularly if we linger any longer."

"Point taken," snapped Anderson, rising. "Joker – status!"

"Alenko's got the volus on medigel duty. Little guy moves at the speed of round, wish you could see it." Anderson's face suddenly adopted a look of constipation, likely resisting the strong and inappropriate urge to laugh. Jim just felt too tired. Garrus at least chuckled."Repairs are underway, but even EDI doesn't seem too optimistic. The Matriarch's fine, Alenko says she's been the backbone of the defense. Three men down, but we still got a bunch of bodies between us and Aldaris."

"Massani-Zaeed, did you witness unknown battlecruiser presence at Eden Prime?" Legion persisted, not wanting to let go of this topic. Jim watched Zaeed with a curious eye, wondering just what Legion and Tali wanted him to say.

Zaeed spat out a trail of saliva to his left. "Yeah, I saw a goddamn battlecruiser. It took a good look at the battlefield and buggered off. Strange design though – smaller than most cruisers I've seen. Different thrusters, too." He struggled to his feet, his suit likely making the difference in whatever weakness he might have been feeling.

"Smaller," said Jim, glancing at Anderson and company, who had stopped to stare at Zaeed. "The UED battlecruisers ain't too big, not as much as the ITSA and Dominion cruisers at least. Did they make a stop at Eden Prime and see what was goin' on?" _And did they just … leave? Heh, who would have thought both prisoners would have dirt on the people threatening what's left of terran freedom these days…_

"I was not aware of this." David adopted a snarl, looking openly angry. "Stukov – I know you're watching. I hope you have an explanation for this. Did we make a stop at Eden Prime? Were we the first to see these bastards? And did we do _nothing?_ "

"Now is not the time," said Sarah, pulling Nova up from the ground. "Shit – she can't walk like this."

"I got her." Jim gestured to Nova, extending his free hand. Sarah hesitated for a moment before proffering the ghost. Jim took her in an arm and lifted her up over his shoulders, where she weakly clamped on to his sides, still clutching Garrus's pistol.

"This ain't orthodox but it ain't like the suit's gonna tire out." Jim readied his weapon and tried to control his movements; the last thing he needed was for the poor woman to fall off him in the middle of a firefight. "Sittin' tight?"

"More comfortable than the pod. Or the operating tables."

"Nova _and_ goddamn Kerrigan?" Zaeed peered at the assembled ensemble of races with naked disbelief. "If we had the goddamn time I'd ask for an explanation. Instead, I just want a goddamn gun." He coughed and directed an uncomfortable expression before looking towards Legion and Tali. "Don't suppose you brought my rifle, Jessie?"

"We actually found it back on Eden Prime," replied Tali with a tone of slight disbelief. _Small galaxy._ "I don't know what happened to it, though."

"We've got nothing spare for someone in a CMC suit." David glanced to Williams, who shook her head. "Grab something from one of the big ones if you get a chance. Nova – the way forward?"

"Left tunnel." Nova extended a shaking hand and pointed to the darkest snaking passage, naturally. "Leads you through the operating rooms and towards the center where … where everyone eventually goes."

"And what precisely happens there?" David motioned for everyone to form up. Jim waited for Nova to continue, holding position.

"I … I don't have the words." Again, Nova went from snarky and slightly confident to shaken. "I mean … I don't know."

"The whole galaxy will see it before long." Jim smiled and hoped Nova could see it in her mind's eye. "Whatever you went through, it's over now, darlin'. And it won't have been for nothing."

"No." Nova's tone grew certain. "No, one way or another, I think it was actually for nothing."

"Zeratul! Fenix!" bellowed Sarah, waiting at the side of the tunnel they now had to traverse. "Time to go!"

The two protoss staggered backwards from the door, which buckled immediately. Zeratul faded from sight and Fenix sprinted towards their position, moving faster than Jim's eye could register without feeling dizzy.

"Reinforcements? I recognize these two!" Fenix paused at the entrance, psi blades drawn, head swiveling to first the stumbling Zaeed and then to the woman on Jim's shoulders. "Nova, of the defunct Dominion, and … Zaeed Massani, who fought alongside us on Thessia!"

"I had Jessie then," replied Zaeed, sounding mournful. "Wait … is that a goddamn nuke on your back?"

"No time!" growled Duran. He and Thane advanced down the tunnel with rifles drawn, taking point and forcing the rest of them forward. Grunt did not take this well, muttering something about the "tiny ones" not going first and shoving himself to the front.

Behind them, the great door groaned and buckled.

"Make sure to duck, alright?" Jim tried to crouch slightly inside the tunnel, which rose only ten feet wide above them. The walls glistened with some kind of wetness, and a smell of rot greeted Jim's nose, even through the suit. Where the walls of the base before looked brown and papery yet stiff, the consistency of the base now reminded Jim of the kind of weird black fungus shit that would grow anywhere that was dark or forgotten, even in an inhabited house if it was left unattended.

Unlike the zerg hives Jim had been unfortunate enough to find himself in, it did not smell of life, however sick that life might have been. It only smelled of neglect and decay. The sickly light of yellow from before gave way to pale orange. The floors squelched underfoot.

"Can any of our psionic guys sense anything?" asked Jim as the bile rose in his throat. "Feel like I'm gonna turn around and see part of the wall was actually a collector I just woke up."

"The flame behind us fades." Zeratul spoke from the shadows, unseen. "They will attempt to head us off ahead. There is life … but also cold. So much cold."

"I fear not death! The Khala protects!" Fenix strode forward, his blades leaving a blazing afterimage in Jim's eyes. He brandished his right hand, pointing the blade forward into the murk. "They have yet to slay a man of us! It is they who should cower in the dark, Prelate. Banish this hesitance; it will ill-serve us should another archon besiege us."

"What exactly is the plan in that situation?" asked Garrus. "I mean, aside from the obvious "shooting at it and screaming a lot.""

"I brought a few EMP rounds with me, Vakarian." Sarah jerked a thumb at Duran. "I imagine Duran's done the same. Does a number on protoss shielding and kinetic barriers. Can only hope it does the same here."

"Recommend mass fire and omnitool tech fire," said Mordin. "Have to sustain. Also prayer, if that helps."

"Expect losses," murmured Zeratul, retreating again into the dark, making Jim shake his head within his helmet. _Cheery._

The somewhat cramped corridor gave way to a room much larger. The dim orange air grew choked with some kind of strange particles that floated idly through the beams of light from Jim's suit. Nova gagged from atop Jim but did not request a halt or any kind of assistance.

From the entrance they stood atop a rough hill, staring down at a vast array of bubbling tubes from which the thick aroma of rot originated. Rough tables of ridged papery looking material ran through the center of each row of horrible tools, a disgusting array of various wicked looking instruments whose designer had apparently taken great pain to make sure they were as twisted and serrated as possible.

Nova gagged again, and Jim caught a muffled sob following it. Nova still said nothing.

"This is a goddamn bad place," muttered Zaeed, face turning white. "I remember it. It's not what they do to you, though … it's what they do to each other. We should haul ass to … wherever the hell we're going."

"Forward!" boomed Grunt, and charged down the slope. The sound of buzzing filled with the fragrant air.

" **No further."**

From above on the far side of the vast room, a figure rife with molten cracks spread throughout its body stared down from a protruding balcony, barely visible in the distance. Jim wasted no time aiming his weapon square at it, his visor registering the distance of sixty feet. _The guy one. Harbinger._ He squeezed the trigger, just in time to join the others with their own bursts of fire.

Smoke rose from the impacts but Jim did not have time to see whether he or the others had hit the bastard or not. A great grinding clank echoed through the rooms, and the tube Jim had taken cover behind slid open. To his right, some slick figure slid out of the tube and to the floor. The horrid smell became almost overpowering, and Jim instinctively backed out of cover and wheeled around to face the new threat. All throughout the room came the similar sound of muffled thudding … followed by a familiar chittering.

"What have you done to them, Harbinger?" screamed Duran. Jim looked to him in astonishment, but there was no time to actually register what he saw. Nova was firing at the figure on the floor as it tried to stand on oddly unshaken legs, its first steps far from uncertain. The fresh collector spurted blood and fell backwards as Nova blasted in three times in the head and chest. Behind it, others rose, their carapaces glistening. From above, armed ones descended on iridescent wings.

" **Unleash all waves."** Jim could not see Harbinger, but his voice ran out clearly. His own weapon jumped in his arms as he unleashed a volley of death upon the row of staggering collectors before him, but he fell back behind the tube afterward. Sure enough, the ground ruptured with the impacts of return fire moments later. **"There is no pain, there is no fear."**

"Shit!" Jim jumped backward as his cover slid into the ground, exposing him. All around the room the tubes slid into the earth, vanishing with a hiss. A horde of collectors greeted them, and Jim knew he did not have time to find new cover or really think. The stimpack injector pushed into his neck, his gun levelled, and time slowed as his heart raced.

Nova still made no noise, but her gun reported with a muffled boom that shook the air like thunder. The collectors stared at their coming death with even less register than Nova's own useless eyes, their hands and weapons readying for the sake of nothing, not even hate. Fenix and Grunt were already in the midst, a whirling mass of destruction. Jim squeezed the trigger.

In seconds he was in the middle of it, gun alternately blazing and desperately slicing with fixed bayonet. His suit registered a wound his mind did not – some gaping hole in his side that Shepard could no doubt fix. The others had followed him, trying desperately to cross the thick morass of collectors they found themselves in, some armed and possessing a dry carapace, others wet with freshly simulated birth and wet with foul smelling fluid.

Something latched on to Jim's left arm and he jerked it free, sending a creature flying. A burst flew from his gun and struck gold, molten droplets of blood flying free from the insect targets. Nova's legs clamped tightly against his suit and the air briefly shook. Blue light flew in all directions as an unseen burst of energy sent the collectors flying.

"Fear nothing! Spare nothing!" Fenix looked to be nothing more than a tempest of severed limbs and smoking carcasses left in his wake. Bolts of energy rained down from above, but Fenix was the only target of Harbinger's ire. His shields flared from each blast, but he flew on as if stimmed just as Jim was.

The UED formed a small wedge with Shepard at the back and Williams plowing forward in front, her minigun massive rattling death. Jenkins and Anderson laid about themselves with bayonet and boot whenever the fighting grew too close, and Grunt periodically doubled back from Fenix to clear the way for his medic "mother."

The tubes reemerged from the ground with a muted clank of hidden machinery, their interiors filled with ghastly bubbling. Jim did not care. He and Nova fired into the tanks, spilling forth the noxious liquids inside and splitting open the occupants with bullet and inward thrusting broken glass. The blood within Jim pulsed and pounded, the adrenaline cocktail mixing with the stimpack and making his heart convulse. The sweat ran freely from his scalp and armpits, the inside of his suit growing sticky from perspiration.

His eyes stung and his limbs ached. More walking corpses spilled from the tubes, prompting further screams from Duran while Harbinger looked on from above. There was no sign of Majesty. There was no sign of the collectors stopping.

"You have the same madness in your eyes that I saw at Thessia, Raynor." Fenix, blood spattered, a deep cut running across his left eye. They stood at the threshold leading out of the horrid surgery floor, a vast chasm stretching behind them. A thin and perilous stretch of craggy rock ran across the blackness, narrow and precipitous. The blood cooled. Yet when Jim turned, it was to find the others still bogged down, his suit readout overrun with fresh target parameters.

"Alenko here." The static cut through to Jim, who shook his head to clear away the roaring blood in his ears. "Turrets are down. Majesty's pushed our positions four times now. Pressly and Chambers are down; we're running out of support. Aldaris is taking the field; no way we can hold her off for much longer without him."

"Push!" David screamed it, Grunt echoed it. Green light danced through the crowds as Zeratul tried to cut a path free. Garrus, Kerrigan, Thane, and Legion skirted the sides, taking potshots on the reinforcements who actually had guns. Duran appeared only in intervals and usually at Zeratul's side, his own blade flashing at the rough throats of the collectors. He no longer seemed to possess a rifle.

For Jim, there was only shoot and back up, shoot and back up. His limbs ached, dull persistent pains in his left shoulder and below the right knee. As the others clawed their way free, Shepard took one look at him and lifted her right wrist, three fiercely sharp green needles shooting out of them.

Strangely enough, the sight terrified him more than some of the twisted collectors that had crawled out of those disgusting tubes. Nevertheless, the swift jab into the neck relieved the dull and persistent pain.

"Across the bridge," said Nova, all anxiety gone. "This … this is where they dump the bodies afterwards. Ours and theirs."

Behind them, the enemy roiled and buzzed, held back only by the volleys of fire from Williams' minigun and incineration blasts from Mordin, whose tech spread flames that leapt from body to body, filling the room with a cleansing stench.

Zaeed, brandishing a stolen collector rifle, opened his helmet and spat over the edge of the abyss. Behind them, the third set of tubes emerged from whatever hellish corners of the station the collectors bred themselves in.

"Viewership has climbed to sixty billion," reported EDI as they took their first hurried yet careful steps across that bridge. "Turians sing battle hymns across the galaxy. All humans and terrans united under one common purpose. Geth and quarians look on wishing for the same victory. The salarians and asari urge on the protoss to find a way to reach you. The batarians have called for a day of prayer; all of Khar'Shan stands silent, Hegemony and protoss loyalists alike kneeling side by side."

 _So this is already a victory then._ It didn't matter where Fenix set the bomb off or how any of them died. The Reapers were exposed, and sixty billion people would not forget what they saw courtesy of that quantum computer. _So … we got permission to die, if it comes to that._

The cavern's blackness stretched up and out of sight, with no clear indicator of just where the hell this place was relative to the rest of the collector base. The only source of the buzzing and croaking came from the room they vacated, the bastards spilling out of the place they had literally been born in, and where many of their own had just died. Larger collectors bearing heavy weapons and shielded in jagged yellow power armor now took the front, the foremost burning the ground where he stood, Harbinger glaring at them through searing sockets.

" **Slay the Firstborn."**

At this point, all they could do was run. The way was too narrow for comfortable melee, and the larger fighters could not reliably turn their weapons around without perhaps striking one of their allies. Bullets and blasts of flame hounded their every footstep, and the chittering grew closer with every passing second.

The bridge trembled beneath them as they thundered past, Fenix urging them onward to the center, where this hell would be cleansed in nuclear fire. Yet his voice seemed far away, unusual. When Jim looked forward to that winding bridge, time slowed, and not like the relative slowness borne of stimpack enhanced reflexes.

The black around them turned a faint purple laced with tendrils of fierce red. Harsh whispering echoed through Jim's skull, causing his head to pound and his vision to flash. With each flash, swore he could see crowds of drifting humanoid shadows, arms outstretched before them as if to avert a blow or shield their eyes.

" **Embrace the inevitable."**

"Raynor," called out Nova, her hands fluttering around Jim's helmet and shoulders, her voice so much lower in pitch in slow motion. "Raynor…"

Jim looked up. A great eye stared back at him, red and terrible, wreathed in black energies, yet unmistakably terran. He could see the pupil color, brown, changing to blue, shifting to hazel and black. Familiar voices from people he knew back on Eden Prime called out to him, insisting that he approach and reach out. Jim's gaze filled with soft blackness, the edges crowded out by that tantalizing inevitability just out of his reach. He staggered forward, turning aside the hands that tried to bar him from joining the others, of joining the flickering shadows all around them…

Abruptly, he found himself horizontal, lying on his back with Nova sitting across his chest, firing a pistol into the crowd just outside his sight. Others lay on their backs to his left and right; Zaeed and Jenkins moaned and muttered to themselves, still unconscious.

"This is not a place for terrans, Prelate!" Fenix, still sounding as if he were calling from a great distance, his voice echoing as if off a mountainside. "Can you not feel it? We must pull them back to the ship!"

"The metal craves the flesh." Legion, sounding as if he were reciting scripture. "The metal unmakes the flesh."

" **The machine understands."** Jim pulled himself up, Nova slipping off of him without looking backward, simply bracing herself against the ground as best she could. The glowing figure strode through the bodies, heedless of the gunfire being poured into it. Fenix charged Harbinger, blades whipping around. Harbinger diverted each blade with upturned wrists before reaching for Fenix, grabbing him by the throat. His shields began to smoke, and the protoss kicked desperately as Harbinger held him in the air. **"Mistake. Your existence is a travesty."**

Behind Jim, Tali worked frantically at a heavy door, the control panel open and mechanical guts spilling out of it. The others fought on in various states of injury, the UED soldiers aside from Jenkins fighting on but as if drunk, their movements heavy and labored. Thane and Mordin called out clipped but professional reports of downing enemies and of approaching heavy targets. Sure enough, the larger collectors pressed through the piles of bodies, their armor heedless of the fire being poured into them.

Still Fenix smoked and twitched. Jim did not know where his gun was, and his head swam from whatever-the-hell vision he had just experienced. He stepped forward, unsteady, only to feel a harsh pressure against his chest. The blood welled around the fresh hole, and Jim took a knee. The darkness around them swirled and contorted … and yet, through it all, a figure appeared beside Harbinger, a strange serrated blade drawn.

Harbinger looked down.

" **Still you linger on. Impossible. To what end?"**

"Yours." Duran jammed the blade where the armor met neck and Harbinger released Fenix, staggering backwards as Duran released the smoking blade. With a grunt Harbinger faded into cinder, and Duran likewise vanished from view. Behind them, the door opened.

"The wounded, get the wounded through!"

Jim wasn't sure, but he suspected they spoke of him. The turian and salarian grabbed him by either shoulder and dragged him backwards, his heavy boots scraping the soil. With every inch traversed, he felt his mind slipping, pulled away by some unseen force.

"Where's Tali and Legion?" asked Zeratul, the desperation creeping in. "Were they not the first through?"

The quarian lay bleeding against the console she had bypassed, a gaping hole against the front of her suit. The geth lay next to her, its flashlight head extinguished, its form ravaged and finally lifeless. Ashley Williams staggered forward, minigun clutched in shaking hands, firing wildly into the horde, her own figure bleeding from innumerable wounds. The doors began to close, both of them still locked outside.

Jim stood, only for the world to swim and roll. He fell face forward, only to crawl on hands and belly, knowing death when he saw it, and desperate to avert it.

"Shit," Williams gasped, reaching Tali's bleeding body and dropping her gun to drape her over her own shoulders. She took three steps forward before gasping, the blood pouring from her mouth at some hidden blow. The doors inched closer to shutting, and Tali fell from Williams shoulders and into the chief's arms.

Williams hurled Tali forward, sending her purple body skidding just across the threshold. She folded in place with a smile, the doors clanging shut just seconds later. Zeratul materialized just outside the doors, cloak dripping with his own blue blood, head bowed.

"Chief's down, Legion's down," said Anderson, voice clipped and angry. "Raynor, Massani, and Jenkins are no longer fit to fight. Everyone's wounded. The quarian?"

"Alive." Zeratul bore the quarian to the center. "Suit puncture. She suffered it just after getting the door open." He turned to Fenix, whose head remained bowed. "This is no place for terrans, Fenix. Can you not hear it? That siren's call? It was made for them."

Shepard kneeled over Jim and lifted her right arm. A stream of light blossomed from it, the nanosutures directed straight into Jim's all too many wounds. His mind still felt light and fuzzy, but when Shepard lifted him up, he stood true all the same.

"If we're going to suffer another bloody psionic attack and have half the group turn into raging loonies, then there's no use bringing us to the center," snapped David. "EDI – the ship?"

"Mostly functional, although they have sustained heavy casualties." _That's good, I guess._ Jim winced, severe pain blossoming from his knee. He staggered forward on Shepard's shoulder, approaching the others.

"There's something hungry at the center of this place," he said, nodding to Anderson. "Williams … didn't think I'd see any UED soldier lay down their life like that for an alien. And everyone saw it. She ain't gonna be forgotten."

"My current responsibility is to save those who are left, Raynor." David's eyes softened, but his eyes remained harsh. "EDI – set up a navpoint for a rendezvous. I'm dragging a quarian and all human survivors back to the ship. It's up to Fenix to destroy whatever the hell lies at the center and keeping us from using mass recall."

"You alright, Sarah?" Jim turned to the ghost, who flashed a small thumbs up, but otherwise seemed preoccupied with pressing one of Garrus's wounds.

"Whatever the Reapers are doing, it's not as effective on psionics." She jerked her head back towards Nova. "She's doing fine as well. Better than you, really, and she can't even see."

"And Duran?"

"Yes," said the Prelate, turning to the sullen figure of Duran, who lurked in the shadows nearly out of sight. "What of the strange terran whom speaks so freely to hanar and drell, and whom Harbinger claims to recognize?"

"Prelate, if we live long enough, I can tell you a great many things." Duran folded his arms, exposing the hilt to the monstrous blade he bore. "This is not the time. I must do my utmost to save my UED compatriots and Captain Raynor."

"Indeed!" barked Fenix, spirits undampened, warhead still miraculously intact. "Do not turn on one another, and pay no mind to whatever foul tricks the Reapers play upon us! Rear Admiral Anderson, I will entrust the young Tali'Zorah and the other wounded to your care while we finish this!"

Anderson nodded, before pointing to the circular platform before them, which hovered over another chasm. When Jim looked across the vast emptiness, a pulse stirred the empty air, and a strange urge to leap took hold. He wrenched his eyes away, vision blurring, breathing turning harsh. _Yeah. That's not a place for humans._

"I'll rally what's left of us." Anderson clapped Fenix on the shoulder. "Whatever it is, blow it to hell. Here." He removed his helmet and proffered it to Fenix. "The camera. Make sure they all see it. Make sure they all know."

Fenix gingerly accepted the device and bowed low to Anderson.

"Prevent further deaths if you are able. If one of us does not return, know that I will always regret not knowing you better." Fenix marched to Jim, grabbing him by the shoulder. "And you must survive, James Raynor! Too few people remain in this galaxy that can claim to have met Tassadar personally; even fewer can I call friend. I would be loath to count one less in either category!"

"If you had a mouth, I'd say we should grab a beer after this." Jim winked at him. "Go get 'em, man. For Adun, right?"

Shepard released her grip on Jim and let him stand with some uncertainty. The aliens Zeratul, Fenix, Grunt, Mordin, Garrus, and Thane all proceeded to the platform. Garrus stopped at the edge and motioned for Jim to approach.

"Nice to finally fight on the same battlefield," said Garrus quietly, glancing over to Sarah. "I know you two were close once, but I also know humans can get ah, temperamental over such things…"

"We're mostly okay." Jim resisted the urge to look back.

"I would just ask you to look after her if I happen to die," said Garrus without a hint of uncertainty. "And I don't mean protecting her from bad guys, because she's quite lethal. I mean … give her a place where she's surrounded by good people. Like on your ship, maybe. She needs that."

"I don't think she'd accept." Jim shut his eyes. "But yeah, sure. And if you do make it, I'll buy you a damn beer."

"Dextro, I hope," replied Garrus lightly, but he still extended a hand which Jim tentatively shook. "Now if you don't mind, I have to plant a nuclear bomb to destroy whatever's making you terrans even crazier than usual … just a normal day's work."

He retreated on to the platform. Jim exchanged a glance with Zeratul, who merely nodded, his mind reaching out. _Survive. It would be the greatest insult to these monsters. Survive._

Jim turned back and accepted Tali'Zorah into his arms. _Don't worry. I'm gonna do just that._


	52. The Khala Protects

**Garrus**

The platform touched off without a sound, hovering over the inky blackness below with a disturbing weightlessness. The huddled mass of terrans disappeared behind them, and Garrus murmured a small prayer that they would not be overcome as they finished what they came here to do.

A quiet settled over everything. Thane sat cross-legged in the center of the platform, eyes shut, his rifle resting across his lap. _First time I've ever seen a drell. An odd sort._ The two protoss stood at the front of the platform, watching the platform's progress, readying themselves for the end. The krogan merely paced back and forth to their left at the edge of the platform, occasionally shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

Mordin alone stood at Garrus's side, clutching a heavy pistol. Garrus looked the salarian up and down, remembering his time with the STG crew boarding the _Amerigo_ and wondering how much of that applied here. _Salarians are almost as hard to understand as the protoss._

"Wish had been born four years later," said Mordin to Garrus, breaking the silence. Garrus stared at the salarian inquisitively. "More time to study psionics, understand phenomena. Too much of terran research classified or false, difficult to access or correct. Protoss unavailable. Four more years of life might have made difference. More literature. Helpful to combat Reapers."

"If you were younger, would you have been able to contribute during the Great War?" Garrus cocked his head.

"Perhaps not." Mordin nodded, slowly at first, but then a little faster. "Someone else might have gotten it wrong. Other contributions as well. Still – thirty-nine years old now. Not much time left. Thrilled to be at center of galaxy, though. Much accomplished. Nothing to be ashamed of."

 _That must be nice._ Garrus stared out into the distance. No other platforms approached them. The base remained dead silent, yet it felt like the sucking intake of a child before the massive scream. He looked at the protoss, both of whom he owed his life to. _How things change. Would that they could have held their fire that day over the relay … them or Victus. Or both._

The Dark Templar turned away from the edge and squatted before the drell, whose eyes opened to greet him.

"When this is done, I intend to discover just you and yours are doing throwing around phrases such as "Tal'Darim," Thane." Garrus glanced at Mordin, wondering if the salarian knew just what the protoss meant. "I will not see my people potentially outmaneuvered by something we could not see coming. And I will not be outwitted by a terran, even a terran psionic."

"Focus yourself on the coming battle." Thane did not sound even faintly alarmed. "I assure you, you are among friends here. And forgive me if I cannot answer your questions myself. I know precious little beyond what I am told."

The platform shook slightly. Grunt readied his weapon and blew air from his nostrils.

"Today I show the galaxy the value of the krogan." Grunt pounded a thick hand against his armored chest. Fenix reached for the device on his back. _Hopefully we won't be in the blast radius when that goes off…_

The platform slowed. Dim light flowed in from gaps in the ceiling above, revealing what the beating heart of a galaxy looked like firsthand. _Orange and yellow._ Before them were an array of platforms arranged in a circle around – well…

"What is this?" Zeratul fell to his knees, a hand stretched across his face, naked horror in his every movement and syllable. Fenix drew his blades, and the lesser sapients such as Garrus could only look on and despair.

It defied description and yet required it. A shapeless mass of empty blackness, an absence that was yet a presence. Garrus stared at it and realized his mind literally did not believe what his eyes were telling him. It was … black, perhaps. No light emanated from it. Its surface rippled with what might have been grasping appendages, many hands, _something_ rolling along the outside that was as choppy as a rough sea.

Garrus stared at it and knew insignificance. With each motion the light flickered, and the afterimage of countless terrans reeled back in permanent horror, their arms shielding their face from whatever this thing was. No tubes or wires ran to it. It simply hung there, sucking in life, light, and heat greedily. It made no sound nor did it seem to recognize their presence. That somehow made it worse.

"Long we were taught that nothing could dwell in the void for long," murmured Zeratul, rising, his horror turning to a mix of awe and utter disgust. "In truth, we simply did not acknowledge the possibility that any creature would be the combination of advanced, selfish, or devious enough to employ the measures necessary. This … abomination … is what prevents the mass recall. It distorts the energy around it like a lead ball dropped in the center of cloth. Fenix … we must eliminate it."

"Will such crude measures suffice?" he asked, and Garrus could not help but nod in agreement at his doubts. "Zeratul? What is this void-thing?"

"It is a gateway to the emptiness," growled Zeratul, pulling Grunt away from the edge and turning to the others. "Rouse yourselves! I know not if it will defend itself, but its mere presence is an assault on the senses! Enhanced Defense Intelligence, tell me no one has been adversely affected witnessing this on the other end?"

"Viewers are mostly expressing confusion at what appears to be some kind of stable local singularity, Prelate," replied the AI, cool as ice. "Only the Nerazim have reacted adversely. They seem horrified at the existence of this presence, whatever it may be."

"Remarkable," breathed Mordin, stroking his chin and apparently remaining entirely unaffected. "Unfortunate, wish had instruments for measurement. Phenomenon unprecedented. Will write book on experiences, assuming survival. Let future generations draw own conclusions with reliable data." _Salarians. Utter madmen._

"Fenix – plant the device here." Fenix pulled the large warhead from his back and cradled it in his arms. He strode where Zeratul pointed and pulled a large cylinder free from the center of one of the platforms surrounding the thing. Garrus and the others directed their sights outwards, checking for potential interference from the bastard collectors that hounded their every footstep in this wretched place. It proved difficult not to stare at the … thing … or the blasted silhouettes that surrounded its victims.

"Left side. Two platforms at six hundred meters." Thane reported it as if he were expecting it. Fenix looked up and hurried about his business of fastening the device within the cylinder, of sealing it within the platform. Garrus joined Thane at the edge and readied his rifle. _Thirty-seven so far, three Harbinger kills. Let's see how high we can make that number._

"Only one possessed collector," said Garrus, scoping in on the glowing figure. "I thought the archon was unstoppable? Why aren't they trying for it anymore?"

" **Do you not know perfection when you see it, Prelate?"** The Reaper's words carried across the distance effortlessly, likely psionically projected. **"Can you not recognize magnificence?"**

"That thing is an abomination to be purged, nothing more!" Zeratul stood his ground at the edge of the platform, warp blade drawn. "Stand with me, my friends. Prove this creature wrong."

"Device set!" boomed Fenix. "Countdown of thirty minutes! Any longer and I fear its discovery and removal! Prelate, you are certain this will remove the anomaly?"

"At the universe's beginning a great explosion banished the emptiness." Zeratul readied himself, body shimmering as the platform drew closer. "It will do so again."

" **You cannot destroy entropy, Prelate."** Garrus fired once at the platform, and the collector next to Harbinger reeled backwards with a hole in its skull. Harbinger did not even turn his head to his fallen companion. **"We survive where no others can. We share this gift freely. You will live eternal."**

"It is not living and it is no gift." Zeratul pointed his blade square at Harbinger, whose platform swiftly approached. "Were the Matriarch here now, she would tell you precisely what you have done and why it is horrific … but alas, I must fumble with clumsier words and understanding. Die again and again, Harbinger."

Zeratul leapt the distance over the platform, now only ten feet away. Garrus and Thane crowned another two collectors with a bullet each while Grunt and Fenix followed Zeratul's example, issuing their respective homeworlds as a battlecry.

Garrus ducked behind one of the ridges of metal adorning the platform, smiling as he heard the harmless return fire and the sound of Mordin releasing another incineration blast. He popped out again and fired off his own overload, two collectors sparking and jerking back with their barriers broken.

"Incoming platform!"

Garrus fell as their platform shook, the second enemy structure colliding with theirs with some force. When he reoriented himself, two more collectors spilled over the now skewed side of their own smoking platform, chittering madly.

"Isn't there a bomb we should be getting away from?" called out Garrus, firing twice at each collector, knocking both down. "Zeratul!"

Zeratul finished driving his warp blade through the head of Harbinger before turning to reply – only to call out and point. The air rippled and distorted as soon as he did so. Garrus wheeled about to face the unspeakable, and found himself at a loss for any words beyond two.

"Oh, _shit._ "

A vast metal leg, enormous and strewn with thick cabling, emerged from the emptiness, which twisted and shrieked at its emergence. Garrus could not really judge its length, for it ran beyond his view and currently floated slightly inexplicably in space, but it definitely fell into the "too large for my guns to work" category of things Garrus wanted to kill. To his dismay, another promptly followed it out. The air droned with an undercurrent of heavy electricity.

"Reaper presence – probable ship that attacked _Normandy_!" Mordin barked, rushing past Garrus and jumping aboard the platform Zeratul had just cleared. "Recommend reaching safe distance before full emergence!"

Garrus jumped the distance with a quickness, his heart catching in his throat as he landed. His skin tingled as the Reaper continued its process and the electricity ran through him. Thane nimbly leaped the distance without difficulty, and the platform shifted at Fenix's hasty instruction at the center console. The platform whirred and sped away with what Garrus felt was depressing slowness.

The empty thing shrank and the Reaper pulled its way through. It consisted of a vast "head" of sorts made of overlapping sections of metal, with four ponderous metal legs extending to the front and back of it like some monstrous crab. As it tugged its final leg free, the metal sections on its head shifted to the side, revealing a monstrous red eye. Something whined fiercely, making Garrus grit his teeth.

"Get d-"

A blast of heat and light met Garrus and threw him to the floor. The platform shuddered and began to spin, making Garrus slide across the floor as he desperately tried to hook one of his arms or legs on _anything._

"Gotcha!" A heavy hand grabbed Garrus by the wrist and pulled him towards one of the ridges of metal, which now hung almost vertical. Grunt grinned widely at Garrus as he clung to one of the indentations within the metal, his fingers scraping horribly against it as the platform span and sank. Garrus's stomach churned at the motion while the krogan only laughed madly.

"Remember this, turian! Remember the day a krogan saved your li-"

The platform struck one of the walls with a crash, hurling them backwards. The world span and Garrus flailed his limbs in what he hoped was a fashion that would maximize his chances of hooking on to _something_. The krogan was still laughing madly, and as the world turned he briefly saw the bastard clinging on to some piece of jagged pipe sticking from the wreckage of the platform.

Garrus skidded fiercely along some smooth surface before coming over empty air. He collided with something of reassuring curvature that nevertheless forced the air out of his belly and left him gasping. He slid at fierce speeds, his armor sparking as he finally oriented himself and realized he was about to drop again. _Okay. This time roll, damn it._

Garrus thought he heard his knees pop as he landed on some jutting balcony above the bottomless pit below. He nevertheless executed a half-decent roll that left him on his back with no broken limbs. He stared up at the platform above him, now embedded several feet deep into the wall.

A great bass tone echoed through the black. Garrus rolled on to his side and saw the Reaper, livid red eye fixed on them, probably scanning for survivors. It fired again, and the platform shattered, exploding into three pieces which scattered and fell into the deep.

"Vakarian here," said Garrus into his headpiece, hoping anyone would hear him. "We've got a Reaper here, and I've lost track of the others, no idea if they're alive. Bomb's planted, probably about twenty minutes left on that timer. What's our situation? Dead or nearly dead?"

"Joker here, everyone else is packed up and we're on the outside!" Garrus breathed a sigh of relief at that, only to realize that he was, to put it bluntly, probably still fucked. "Ready for pickup?"

"This is Zeratul, we live, yet Vakarian and Thane's positions are unknown to us."

"Thane. Alive and moving. Give us a rendezvous and a navpoint."

"Selecting navpoint." Garrus checked his visor and sure enough, EDI had sent one up only about eight hundred meters from his position, assuming the door on his balcony led anywhere remotely close. " _Normandy_ can hold position for approximately ten minutes before the bomb will force immediate evacuation. The Reaper must remain within the facility for the bomb to reach it. Recommend moving with speed and stealth."

The Reaper issued another blast of sound, and Garrus threw caution to the wind. He ran, praying to any and all Spirits that might have been watching and shaking their collective heads at his poor rolling tumbling skills at that moment. _Silver lining: at least the extranet did not see it._ The door revealed a hallway of mixed metal tubing and horrible chitinous insect shit lining the wall. _Par the course. Move!_

Garrus's rifle was now either so much wreckage or floating serenely in space, so he reached for his holster to find it empty. _Ah, yes. Gave it to the blind woman. It made sense at the time._ Nodding to himself in mock joy and praying even harder now, he instead bent over forward and pegged it as fast as he damn well could.

The base slopped upwards but it did not slow Garrus, who felt he was running fast enough that his own exhaustion was now lagging behind him, arm outstretched and begging for him to wait up. A glowing figure stepped out of a side passage and almost gave him pause, but instead Garrus just sprinted past it.

" **Turian-"** and then Garrus did not catch the rest.

 _I might actually live I might actually live I might actually live-_

The base turned into a gentle slope downwards and Garrus tried to control his speed, almost tripping twice and doubling over. Distant gunfire echoed through the corridors and broke through the sound of rushing wind and throbbing veins. Exhaustion and general lack of breath also caught up to Garrus, and now his chest burned as he tried to push through it, lung burning at the exertion. _Three hundred meters. Two hundred fifty meters._

"Waiting on Vakarian here!" Anderson's words, clipped yet expressing undeniable concern. Whatever else could be said of the UED, they didn't seem to like leaving their people behind, regardless of their policies on aliens. "Getting nervous about that Reaper."

Garrus rounded a corner. Vast space greeted him, exploding suns and black holes making a vibrant backdrop for that splendid human ship, the _Normandy._ Fenix alone remained outside the ship, beckoning for Garrus to close the distance with one hand while the other speared a luckless collector.

"There he is!" Sarah's voice, ecstatic. "Cover him!"

Gunfire erupted from the open airlock, a motley crew of still standing aliens firing into the horde of collectors that besieged the _Normandy_ from the adjacent worming passageway. Garrus summoned what was left of his ragged will and increased the pace, his feet catching fire. _Fifty feet. Forty feet._ The nav point turned green, registering impending arrival…

Something hard and hot struck Garrus in the shoulder and back, and he knew it was over. He went down, practically cartwheeling, the pain temporarily supplanted by naked and unpleasant surprise. He fell in a horrible heap, his head collapsing against the ground. _Well. So it goes._

Just as he sucked in a deep and ragged breath, bracing for the inevitable pain, a strong hand grabbed him by the back and lifted him into the air.

"No one else falls!" boomed Fenix, staring Garrus directly in the face. With one arm carrying Garrus and the other shielding, he shuffled to the edge of the collector base, to where the _Normandy_ waited patiently.

Fenix hurled Garrus. The exploding suns and collector base wheeled around in confusion, and his legs and good arm began their familiar frantic dance to find purchase. The air went out of him with a gasp as he struck the side of the airlock but did not fully roll on board, and his good arm hooked on the edge just as the rest of his body slid off over the black.

"Other arm, turian!" The volus extended a free hand, the other occupied by a pistol. Garrus swung his useless arm over, grunting in pain. The volus grabbed it and dug in his heels, trying merely to hold Garrus in place rather than pull him over. Garrus saw white stars…

"Help me!" Familiar hands grabbed each of his wrists and pulled him up and over. The pain became a yawning chasm of screaming red, and Garrus struggled to fight the urge to scream. "Applying medigel!" screamed the volus, who had apparently found some semblance of courage. "It stops bleeding regardless of species, right?"

"Let's find out." Sarah smiled over Garrus's slumped body before wheeling about with her rifle, firing into the still onrushing onslaught. "Praetor!"

Praetor Fenix turned away from the slaughter and Garrus heard the beginnings of a cry of victory that he was safe – only to be eclipsed by a great grinding crash.

The floor broke, the metal and chitinous substance breaking away. A vast metal digging claw scraped away the filth and the order alike, revealing a vast head of overlapping sections of metal, which began to shift immediately. The Reaper had them directly in their sights.

Fenix took one last look at _Normandy_ , his golden armor framed from Garrus's perspective before the massive Reaper's face. Even through the pain, he knew exactly what would happen next.

"Praetor!" screamed Zeratul, ragged grief running through his voice, but Fenix had already turned away.

"I failed Tassadar but I will not fail the galaxy." Fenix readied himself. "Pay attention, Reaper. This is how a Templar dies."

Fenix propelled himself off the ledge, all golden fury before the emotionless dull metal. His psi blades bore directly for the now exposed red eye that doubled as some kind of firing chamber, but the _Normandy_ already pulled away. _That's twice I owed you my life, Praetor. I wish I could have repaid it._

The Reaper boomed out another bass note, but it seemed shriller and shorter than the ones before it. The airlock hissed shut and Garrus winced with the pain, which did fortunately seem to be subsiding.

"Another great hero lost to the enemy." Zeratul bowed his head. "If this continues, it will be an end of a grand age. I pray that the nuke remains undiscovered and his sacrifice does not go in vain."

"Sacrifice?" Jim Raynor, leaning against the side of the airlock and clutching a bloody side, chuckled without much mirth. "Zeratul, he just wanted to beat up a Reaper. That poor thing's got a psi blade rammed up its ass now, and there ain't no amount of digging that'll remove it. He just couldn't pass up the opportunity. And … someone had to pin that thing on the base long enough for the nuke to go off."

"It was a warrior's death," agreed Zeratul, but nevertheless issuing a glare at Jim that made Garrus's heart freeze, "and in truth, he goes to the Khala to be forever preserved within the gestalt … but my heart mourns nonetheless."

"No matter how many times it happens I am always humbled by the protoss's willingness to sacrifice their lives for the greater good." Duran stared at nothing and seemed to be talking to himself more than anyone else.

"Thank you, Duran." Zeratul faded from sight, likely resolved to brood somewhere in darkness and isolation, as he tended to do whenever he was distressed. Garrus coughed weakly, catching the attention of the others once again.

Sarah crouched over Garrus, inspecting his wounds. "Looks like the UED is going to put a bunch of medical companies out of business, even if all it does is plug holes." She smiled at Garrus. "Slowpoke. Grunt said he tried to catch you, but you were too clumsy."

"Turians are not known for their prowess at acrobatics." Garrus smiled weakly at Kerrigan. "And we only excel at ramming vehicles when it is intentional, as Victus demonstrated time and time again." He rolled his head over to look at the volus, who looked rather proud of himself despite having his face covered by a mask. "Thank you, by the way." _Not sure how much difference it really made, seeing as he probably weighs sixty pounds wet, but it's the thought that counts._

"Attention all passengers and crew, this is your Joker speaking," said a voice over the intercom. "EDI will now be showing off quite the light show to anyone who cares to watch as we obliterate that horrible place through the wonderful power of nuclear energy. The captain has given you all full permission to cheer at full volume as that hellhole goes up in flames and the protoss fleet warps in. Please also pay your respects to all fallen crewmen who died to get us here as it happens. Now buckle your seats, kids and volus. Here we go."

Sure enough, Garrus checked his visor just in time to see a blossom of fierce orange erupt from that distant structure. _Good. That means no one will ever be forced to go there again, as victim or accidental infiltrator._ The ripples of orange ran through the strange structure, chunks of debris ripping free from its underlying skeleton and hurtling off into the orange void.

" **Majesty – your experiments were flawed. All access is closed."** Harbinger's voice, sounding as if he stood next to them. **"The base is lost. They have won."**

"What?" Duran stood up straight, eyes wide and wild, a snarl upon his lips. "What is this?"

" **We acknowledge your victory, children of this cycle."** Majesty's voice, melodious yet melancholy. **"We wish you peace as you forge your own futures. Someday you will join us in the stars, if you are fortunate enough to survive to develop so far. If you are ever ready."**

The base exploded, cracks of orange spreading through the structure entire and bursting. _Farewell, Fenix. I don't understand this Khala of yours, but I hope you go to it, or however it works._ The shockwave ran through space, visible and imposing, yet still falling utterly short of the where the _Normandy_ was now positioned. The horrors, the death, the anomaly, gone, all gone.

Jim gave a low whistle. "Huh. Did we just … cut off their only access into the galaxy? Are they stuck wherever they are now? Was it that easy?"

"No," growled Duran through gritted teeth, a surge of saliva spilling through them. "No, it's a trick. They – _damn them!_ "

"Whoa, take it easy, man." Jim lifted up a bloodstained armored hand at Duran, as if that would calm him. Garrus watched the ghost with curious eyes while Sarah shifted her body, shielding him from Duran. "Worst case scenario is still that we won. The deaths today – they were meaningful."

"Mr. Raynor," began Duran, but then he stopped, as if coming to some kind of abrupt conclusion. He shut his eyes, breathed deeply, turned, and simply exited the airlock.

"Duran is certainly odd one, even for terrans," said Din Korlack, breathing a deep sigh of relief. "I am sure he will be fine, however. I am proud to have played my own small part in this."

"This is the Executor." Executor Selendis's voice, no sound more welcome. "Judicator, we are here!"

"Burn what is left of the base," ordered Aldaris. "Burn it in Fenix's name. Wipe the remnants of the Reaper's filth from this galaxy and then…" The judicator paused. "…and then take us home. We have victory."


	53. The Krogan Future

**Wrex**

Wrex had never been one for appreciating beautiful sights. Certainly there were some things that had taken his breath away as a youth; the sight of a hated slain enemy, certain weapons he had been saving up for and drooling over for months and now held in his arms, a squad of turians broken underfoot … but these had been the simple thrills of a warrior, eventually outweighed by the casual cynicism of centuries. None had given him much pause. None had brought him to tears.

 _Please do not think me weak._

"You can hold him," said Bakara, the shaman who had once scorned him, gently lifting the sleeping krogan child, the most precious and valuable thing he had ever beheld. Grunt looked on in similar awe, his mouth slightly open with astonishment from his position just behind Wrex.

Wrex opened his mouth but no sound came out. He bowed his head.

"I – I'm afraid I'll hurt him."

"You are not that clumsy, Wrex." Bakara put a slight mocking edge in her tone. "And krogan children are not so physically fragile as that. Be mindful, and hold him."

Wrex looked around, and he wasn't sure why. _He's my child. Any krogan father who knew the kid to be theirs would react this way._ Still the emotion welled up in his throat, and it became difficult to speak. He leaned forward and gently plucked his son from Bakara's arms and cradled him. He looked so tiny…

"He is small, but I was small once. Hah!" Grunt pounded his fists together. "One day when he is not so small I will teach him new things, as a clan-brother should. But not the things the tank mother taught me. Proper things - how to wrestle a pet varren without triggering its kill reflex. How to assemble a gun. How to taste the air for the wind and feel the soil for the prey's footsteps. The sounds thresher maws make. Tuchanka lessons, just as Wrex taught me."

"Thank you." Wrex stared down at Jarrod, his firstborn, the child he had long ago concurred would never be born. _We had no future … and now I cradle it in my arms._ His crest was barely a nub atop his tiny little red head, and the skin on the lower part of his face was the shade of crème rather than the yellow Wrex knew it would develop into. _I know he is much too small to look like much of anything right now … but I still think he looks like me._

Wrex stood there in silence while Bakara and Grunt watched him. Wrex shut his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, trying to control himself.

"Grunt – give me a few minutes with Bakara."

"Of course, battlemaster." Grunt stomped out of the room, but the stomping sounded just a little quieter this time, to let little Jarrod rest. Wrex returned the child to Bakara's arms, feeling like part of his soul went with it, surrendered to this little being that would probably never fully appreciate just what he meant to his parents, to his entire species.

"So," said Wrex, marveling that the day had come to pass. "The cure works."

"The cure works," agreed Bakara, "but it is hardly ideal. The salarian went through dozens of antibiotics to make sure I survived the pregnancy – this cannot work for all of Tuchanka, Wrex. This is only the first step. And I am not sure we can proceed any further."

"The cure has to be perfected," mumbled Wrex, turning away from his mate and his child, "but it cannot continue. I have seen the camps."

So he had. At great insistence the emotionless UED captain, Leng, had allowed him a brief tour of just what the UED were doing to get their medical data. A brief tour had been enough. His stomachs had sickened and his hearts had chilled at the endless rows of bodies falling into pits dug by rusted SCVs, atthe strange contrast between the sterile and highly technological environments of the science facilities themselves and the … brutality outside.

One visit had been enough.

"The salarian has a bleeding heart, Wrex," said Bakara. "He regrets what he did to us, as he should. If we can secure him and Okeer, the UED's work can be continued without these atrocities. If the galaxy were to learn of this … they would not bother with the Genophage this time."

"I know this." Wrex sat down on a chair, head in his hands, eyes shut, temples throbbing. "And I can see what the UED is doing. The protoss are pulling out. The Reapers are gone, as far as we can tell. A new status quo has to establish itself." _And so, they turn us into an army._

It was unclear how the word had spread and what the word was, but krogan from all over the galaxy now converged on Tuchanka as they had not done since the days of Shiagur. Whether they had been told of the cure, of vengeance at long last, or even simple mercenary work, Wrex could not say. But they were organizing now. Blood Pack, Urdnot, Gatatog, all. He had seen them drilling, power armored krogan marines backed by the UED's miracle medics. _Not even viscerators will slow them._ And while word had reached krogan ears, the new Council, such as it was, appeared to remain oblivious, focusing instead on what looked to be an inevitable protoss withdrawal from galactic affairs.

And the UED … the UED held the Koprulu Sector now. Dominion and KMC both, swallowed up and flying the eagle and bolts, a symbol Wrex understood like few else did.

 _Humanity. And no others._

But his child … his child changed things. Banished some of the old fears, summoned a host of new ones to replace them. _This cannot stand. Maybe only the UED can save us, but they alone will certainly doom us if this continues._

"Okeer sometimes asks me if I have some kind of plan for planting a knife in the back of those earther bastards," said Wrex dully, opening his eyes and straightening on the chair. ""You have a thousand years of life, Wrex," he'll tell me, syringe in hand, "you should be able to figure something out."" Wrex gritted his teeth. "I will have to disappoint him in that regard. My plan consists of telling them "no" and then to get off my planet."

"And if they take offense?"

Wrex stared at that tiny little figure wrapped in soft blankets. "Then you will rally the clans as the mother of our future, as Shiagur did in ages past. If the UED will not leave in peace, then they will learn just what Tuchanka does to outsiders who find themselves in unwelcome territory."

"Go quickly then, Wrex." Bakara smiled at him, a far cry from the initial tongue-lashing she had given him months before, when she remained uncertain of his intentions and character. "The faster you move, the more lives might be saved from UED hands. The experiments cannot go on."

 _They should not have happened to begin with._ Yet it was difficult to hold on to that ideal as he took one last lingering look at his mate and son, the child by all rights he never should have been able to see.

Grunt waited outside the door, and seemed to recognize immediately that his clan leader was on the war path, foot stomps and all. He fell behind Wrex, who moved with bitter purpose.

"Something is happening," he said, tone gleeful. "Whose skull are we crushing? Gatatog Uvenk? His bleating grows obnoxious."

"With luck, no one's." They emerged from the small medical building at the heart of the Urdnot camp, bearing a direct course for the tomkahs. "If luck fails us, then every human on the planet."

"But … they cured us?" Grunt hurried to keep up. "Has there been a betrayal? What have they done?"

"It is about what they will do." Wrex turned to face Grunt, bringing himself face to face with the young krogan, the hero who had emerged from the collector base when one of the protoss's finest had not. "For the first time … for the first time since I plunged my dagger into the chest of my child's namesake, I can think of the future. Our future. Free of the Genophage." Wrex took a deep breath. "For almost six hundred years, I couldn't do that. Now I can. And I will not see that taken from me, or you, or Bakara, or my son, or any other krogan. I will not see us make the same mistake the clans did during the Rebellions. There is to be peace, not vengeance."

"But … the turians and salarians wronged us!" Grunt's eyes widened. "The tank mother even agreed! We are to hate them until either the stars burn out or the last of their wicked skulls are crushed underfoot by a resurgent krogan, whichever comes first. You want us to … throw it away?"

"We will have a future." Wrex pushed Grunt back. "Look around you. At these wastes. Remember how you felt when you first stood on this world."

Grunt turned and looked around at the makeshift camp, at the blasted lands beyond it.

"Now tell me how such a world and such a broken people can, in the space of a few decades at most, rival the might of the salarians and turians, who remain unbroken from the Great War, who have survived skirmishes with the likes of the protoss and ultimately came out stronger from it." Wrex waited. Grunt opened his mouth, but his eyes narrowed and Wrex could see his thoughts racing, remembering all those statistics about the numbers and fleets of each species that Okeer had drilled into him.

"The UED is offering to make us ships and weapons, to back us on any crusade we might wish," said Wrex, preparing the finishing blow. "They have already suggested us targets. In short, they aim to use us as a weapon against the enemies they cannot slay. Does this sound familiar to you?"

"Yes," said Grunt, elongating the word. "They would … they would uplift us and … we know what happens next!"

"This has been their goal from the start, Urdnot Grunt, and the time has come to put paid to their expectations." Wrex turned from his adopted son and marched to the tomkahs. "I will not see history repeat. Not when we are still reeling from the first go around. My child … all our children … will grow up without the shadow of someone else's war blotting out their futures. Tuchanka will bloom again."

The words sounded so final and certain in those moments, and Grunt pounded his fists together in approval. _But convincing him is not the hard part. That is to come shortly._

Wrex did not ask around for a driver. He remembered well enough how to handle the terrain, and he would not have to answer any awkward questions. They blazed forth from the camp, making a beeline for the main "science facility" where he knew Kai Leng made base.

"Just say the word and I will start crushing human skull," said Grunt, but Wrex sensed he was about to say something else. "Only … what if Shepard has to come here, or Anderson, or Alenko, Joker, or Jenkins – what do we do?"

"Think of your brother," replied Wrex, fingers tightening on the steering wheel and fervently hoping they were somewhere far away with no knowledge of what was happening on Tuchanka. "Think of your brother and steel yourself. If they put their banner before their krannt, it is no dishonor to follow suit."

Grunt stewed on this and, to be honest, Wrex could not quite drive away certain feelings of trepidation as well. Whatever might be said of the bastards such as Admiral "I'm apparently never going back to Earth" Stukov or Kai "pile the bodies high" Leng, there was honor in the ranks of the humans. A pity it did not surface more frequently in their higher officers.

They could smell the camp well before they actually arrived at it, a lingering stench of soot that carried on the wind. Wrex tried to think of his son, of his mate, of Grunt in the back, to reinforce that whatever had been done, it had given them all a chance at a future, and that he was putting a stop to it at this very instant.

They stopped before the gate, and Wrex waited for the inevitable. Sound crackled from the tomkah's radio.

"Urdnot tomkah, identify yourself and your business here."

"I am Urdnot Wrex, chief of chiefs, and I would have words with Kai Leng."

From the other end of the radio came only a few murmurs and silence. For a lengthy time they heard no response.

"Permission granted. Proceed directly to the command center. Do not stray."

 _They would give me orders on my planet?_ Wrex tried to drum up the anger and indignation. The gate lifted and the tomkah drove through. The smell of burning intensified dramatically.

"It reeks," said Grunt, wrinkling his nose. "They're burning turians. I can smell it. It is foul."

"They're burning more than turians." Wrex drove the tomkah to a stop and exited the lumbering vehicle without a further word, motioning for Grunt to follow. Misery surrounded them at every side within the camp and Wrex, to his not inconsiderable shame, refused to look at it. Instead he thought of his son, and fixed his gaze on the command center.

"Top floor," said a receptionist as they entered, not even looking up from her computer. "Second door to your right."

Wrex thought about saying something, but his words were truly reserved for the UED and their leadership, the sick and cold bastards that they were. He proceeded up the steps, each footfall like a muffled thunderclap.

Kai Leng sat on the window sill closest to his door, a scoped rifle clasped in his gloved hands. He aimed at something or someone below, within the camps. Wrex guessed what he was doing.

"Stop. Now!"

Leng pulled his eye away from the scope with a sigh, standing off of the window sill and leaning his rifle against the wall. He closed the window with a quiet snap before gesturing for Wrex to take a seat while he sat at his own desk, where a lukewarm cup of coffee waited for him. Somehow, the sheer _banality_ of it all made Wrex's blood rise.

"You will not sit?" Leng sipped the coffee, no expression on his face. "Very well, I will not impose. I understand you are now a father. Congratulations."

"Yes," said Wrex while Grunt waited in the back, uncertain. "I am now a father. A title to be finally shared among many krogan."

"The UED is proud of its own small role in the rehabilitation of the krogan people." Leng planted his coffee cup on a UED coaster, directly in the center. "I imagine that this visit has something to do with our shared work here?"

"With the help of Okeer and Maelon, you have created a rough cure," said Wrex. "One that greatly weakens the immune system, but restores undeniable fertility. That means the priorities must change. That means the agreements must change."

"Must they?" Leng took another sip of coffee, face still without any emotion Wrex could see. "Our goals are not yet met, as far as I can see. The UED still needs the help of the krogan. The krogan still need a more refined cure. And total secrecy must be maintained for both of our sakes. If you have truly come to negotiate and not simply make demands, then you should bear all of these facts in mind."

"The fact is, the krogan have been part of this kind of arrangement before, as Okeer will tell anyone who will listen." Wrex stared the human directly in the face, teeth bared, eyes narrowed. "The Uplift ruined us. We must own the Rebellions as our own fault, but it was a direct consequence of what the salarians did to our people to save themselves. You? You do not even have the excuse. Why have you not turned home, any of you?"

"I am not privy to that information. I only have my orders." Leng remained unintimidated. "I have been assured by Admiral Stukov himself that our work here is pivotal to our being able to return home, something desired greatly by every member of the Expeditionary Armada, myself included. I will not see it hindered."

"I do not aim to hinder it." Wrex leaned forward, placing his heavy palms against the desk, which threatened to crack under their weight. "I aim for it to stop entirely. You are planting a massive target on our backs with your experiments and your … "harmless amusements." They have been called unfortunate necessities and perhaps they were, but they are necessary no longer. No more experiments on pregnant turians or salarian clutches." Grunt took a step back at this. "No more batarians screaming, begging for swift death as the nanites fuse bone and flesh together as an "unforeseen side effect." No more cruelty, Leng. I want the UED gone, off my planet. The krogan want a future free of you."

"That is unfortunate." Leng held up a finger and finished his mug, placing it one last time on his coaster. "Are you certain this is the course of action you wish to take?"

Wrex grabbed the side of the desk and upended it, sending papers, pens, and mug and coaster flying across the room. They hit the wall with a muted thud, the mug shattering as it hit the floor. Wrex stepped up to Leng, who stood from his chair, his face a mask of anger.

"I see." Leng cocked his head. "EDI – the krogans grow truculent. Kill Grunt."

"As you wish."

"Your computer will not save you!" Wrex grabbed the human by the throat and pinned him against the wall, holding him in place. Kai Leng's face did not twitch, but Wrex could see up close the sweat running down from his smooth forehead, into his dull little eyes. Then he smiled.

"Stop smiling!" bellowed Wrex, clenching his free hand into a fist, preparing to drive it into the worm's stinking guts, to pull them free and feed them to him…

From behind came a sound of muffled choking. Wrex turned his neck.

"Grunt?"

Grunt fell on all fours, heaving. He looked up, and Wrex dropped Leng in shock. Blood ran from his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He looked up to Wrex, his adopted father, his battlemaster, his clan chief, and opened his mouth as if to speak. All that came out was blood, thick and colored almost black. Cuts appeared all over his skin, springing up as if he were being cut by a million little blades. With a gurgling moan, Grunt fell to his belly, a spreading pool of crimson surrounding his body. He did not stir again.

"A quantum computer allowed the galaxy to watch Grunt survive that little incident on the collector base," said Leng from behind him. Wrex barely registered, his future suddenly black, all black. "The same quantum computer can issue simple commands to UED nanites at the will of any officer of Earth … no matter where that krogan is in the galaxy. Orders such as to abruptly tunnel out of any arteries they happen to occupy at that time." Wrex shut his eyes, the emotion rising in the throat, that bitter draught of total despair never tasting so strong as now.

"The same nanites now run through your veins, the veins of Urdnot Bakara." Kai Leng strode to Grunt's corpse, toeing it with distaste. He looked to Wrex, that same small smile playing at his lips. "The veins of your son. I'm sure you wondered why we so urgently required pregnant specimens. We needed to be certain of embryonic transfer of the nanites, both to insure hereditary fertility and … well. As leverage in the event you succumbed to barbarism."

"I will kill you all," spat Wrex, the liquid from the eyes mixing freely with the liquid dribbled from the mouth. "I will eat your children."

"I will forgive your emotional outburst this time." Leng straightened. "Another word, however, and I kill both Jarrod and Bakara. This is the part where you listen, understand?"

Wrex stood there, the word still inexplicably turning, the sun still somehow beating down on Tuchanka outside, even though it was clear everything was over. For everyone.

"You will lead the krogan to the best of your ability and to UED specifications," said Leng, never raising his voice. "You will inform Bakara that continuing the current course is mutually beneficial to us, going into as much detail as you prefer. Honesty might be best; she is sharp for a krogan, and will understand better than anyone how limited your options are."

"I understand Admiral Stukov has some grand plan, some … epic series of events that will permit the UED to return home unmolested and unobserved. The krogan are part of this plan, and you will lead the krogan. When it is done, the galaxy will be changed. The krogan will be free to explore their own futures in whatever fashions they choose … so long as it does not endanger humanity. You have seen what happens if it does."

Wrex shut his eyes, turning away from the sight of the fallen Grunt and the smug Leng.

"The Reapers are gone but our work must continue. We must go home, Wrex. I apologize for this unpleasantness, but you had me, literally, by the throat. And now I, figuratively, have you by the balls." Leng stepped towards Wrex, who refused to look him in the face, his new slavemaster.

"Do not be afraid to suffer," crooned Leng, twisting the knife. "The future awaits us."


	54. Peace

**James**

When Jim woke up each morning, he felt strange, as if some kind of steel clamp formerly fastened to his skull had been removed without warning, letting his brain breathe, letting him feel parts of his head that had otherwise numbed long ago.

Today, for instance, he woke up next to Miranda, whose head rested on his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. When he looked at her, his mind did not take a brief yet still guilt-ridden jaunt to Lydia or Sarah. When he turned away from her and stared up at the ceiling, he felt no sudden jolt as memories of Tarsonis came to the fore when he remembered Mengsk still lived. Jim could feel no gnawing doubt about threats beyond his ken and paygrade, as the Reapers had been. Instead he felt … light. The zerg were long dormant. Mengsk was dead, and had been proven an unrepentant monster to boot. And the Reapers, as far as anyone could tell, had retreated from the galaxy entirely. Life, for the first time in far too long, felt full of possibility.

Jim shifted his weight, letting Miranda's head gently slide off his bare torso so he could rise without waking her. _She ain't quite done with her duties just yet._ Duran's vanishing act following the collector base had proven remarkably inexplicable, much to Miranda's frustration and Jim's faint amusement. Whoever the man was or what his intentions had been, he was clearly a master at his craft. _Still, I'll feel a lot more at peace when she either finds him or gives up. Cerberus might still think they have shit to do, but I'm done. Just one last mission, Miri, then come see what Eden Prime has to offer._

Despite himself, Jim's gaze still wandered to the now empty liquor cabinet as he made for the cabin door, stomach rumbling. _No need for that now._ Whatever pain that still needed numbing now felt far from fresh, requiring nothing more than perhaps a few moments of quiet, perhaps some music. If nothing else, checking his email always produced a few more laughs as his many fans sent him congratulatory but more often simply strangely irreverent emails that talked him and the other collector base survivors as impervious demi-gods. _But mostly the volus. Especially the volus._

Breakfast went by without a single pang for alcohol, and it seemed like the food tasted better every day. Crewmen greeted him as he passed them by, and he returned their greeting with a genuine smile and wave, occasionally stopping to chat with them about their plans once _Norad II_ made its likely final stop at Eden Prime. Many had already left for parts unknown, Declan included, and where once Jim might have felt betrayed … now it just felt like mission accomplished. _I wish him well. Hope he remembers to email me about when the wedding is._

"One last stop at port, sir?" Matt Horner waited for him at the airlock, still wearing his old Confederate uniform, still keeping the tone formal. Nevertheless, the smile he offered Jim possessed warmth Jim couldn't remember seeing in years. "The Cerberus QEC disassembly is complete, per Harper's request. There's nothing keeping us here, anymore." He shrugged. "Of course … there's nothing telling us we have to leave, either. The galaxy's given us free reign to do more or less as we please."

"And ain't that a sweet feeling?" Jim spread his arms and gave Matt a rough hug, which he returned. "Thanks for putting up with me, man. Can't believe we saw this through."

"Kerrigan and Harper don't seem to think this is over," said Matt, pulling away with a frown. "Neither does Zeratul. Neither did Duran, before he pulled his vanishing act … and judging by the still-closed hanar borders, I'm guessing the jellies likewise feel there is still some question over the Reapers."

Jim shrugged, smile unabated. "Hell, Matt, maybe it's a long-term problem for a few thousand years down the line. As far as I can tell, there ain't any collectors harassing anybody anymore. No Reapers popping up and saing bizarre shit as they try to vaporize protoss."

"And the UED?" Matt's brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. "They've united the KMC and Dominion fully, something I don't think anyone thought possible … but why aren't they going home? Are they going to uphold the peace?"

"Stukov's a practical man, Matt. He ain't gonna make war with the whole galaxy." Jim clapped a hand on Matt's shoulder before motioning to the airlock. "Plus, David Anderson and them – good people. You know that."

"I wish I could more fully share your optimism, sir." Matt stepped into the airlock with Jim, beginning the cycle sequence. "As it stands, at the very least I think you've earned a comfortable retirement on Eden Prime, if you're finally comfortable doing so."

"I feel good, Matt." Jim nodded to himself. "Yeah. Maybe the only thing I wanna do besides getting back to marshalling is find out what kind of crime Tychus has got himself up to … apologize. Maybe convince him to stop, if that's possible."

"I wish you luck with that." The airlock doors hissed as the cycle completed. "So who are you saying your last goodbyes to?"

"Sarah and Garrus," replied Jim. "Pretty obvious ones, I think. Anderson and his crew, if they have a spare moment. Zeratul. Everyone else I can think of is already off the station."

"Is Miranda coming with us?" The two of them stepped out on to the docking bay. Jim could already see the asari docking authority waving them through, knowing damn well who they were already. "Or is she still committed to finding our elusive friend?"

"She ain't one to let things go if she can help it." Jim waved back to the docking authority and proceeded to the right, to the elevator that led to the Citadel proper. "Harper's accepted her resignation, for which I am eternally grateful, but she didn't want her last job to be summed up as being outdone by Samir Duran." Jim rolled his eyes. "Point of professional pride. Think I might place a bet, three months after she finally settles on Eden Prime, she'll be the one running the capital city. Wouldn't be happy doing anything less."

"You seem to attract remarkable women, sir." They stopped before the main elevator for what could very well be the last time. Jim grinned at Matt as he hit the button with a cheery fist.

"What, and you don't? Can't think of a better word to describe Mira Han than "remarkable.""

"Suddenly I take it all back, sir. I can't wait to be rid of your sorry ass."

Jim chuckled. The elevator doors slid open and the two of them stepped in, side by side. Matt pressed a button that set them bound for the Presidium, while Jim set the elevator to proceed to the C-Sec offices.

They reached the C-Sec offices first.

"See you back on the ship, Matt." Jim clapped him on the shoulder one last time before jogging lightly through the hubbub of the C-Sec headquarters. The protoss presence no longer looked as heavy as it did four months ago, only a single zealot standing watch on an above balcony, scanning the crowds with a keen eye and a keener mind. Jim nodded up to the warrior as he passed under him, wondering when the last protoss would finally leave the station. _The way Artanis and Zeratul would have it, never, but every day of peace weakens their argument. Gotta let go, guys. Listen to Raszagal._

But that was all above his paygrade now. It wouldn't matter once he left the Citadel for perhaps the last time. _It's certainly lost its luster. Don't think I can stomach hitting any more sushi bars or night clubs. Time to settle down._

The Spectre offices lay beneath the C-Sec headquarters, almost as if it were skulking. Jim headed down the ramp and rounded a corner, coming abruptly face to face with a bulkhead. Two cameras on either side of it fixed on his figure, and he waved airily back to them. The heavy doors slid open only moments later. Sarah Kerrigan and Garrus Vakarian waited on the other side, making Jim wonder if she had been expecting him. _Wait. Telepath._

"Still not used to it, Jim?" Sarah's smile looked a bit tense, but that was understandable. _Didn't realize the damage I did when I walked away, darlin', but I still don't regret it. It all worked out for the best in the end._ "Some things don't really change, huh?"

"Beg to differ, darlin'. Can't remember feelin' this happy." He stepped forward, nodding to Garrus. "Good to see you, Garrus. How's full Spectredom treatin' ya?"

"Feels about the same as partial Spectredom. They _still_ make me buy my own guns." Garrus took Jim's hand and shook it. "Can't say you missed out on much, refusing to take this job again. Getting some real disturbing reports out of the Terminus…" Garrus paused, and then waved it off. "…but you don't want to hear about that, I guess. Back to being a cop, I hear?" Garrus laughed. "I was a cop once … maybe you should have accepted Spectrehood."

"Maybe." Jim released his grip and turned to Sarah, whose expression he could not discern. "Hey."

"Hey." Sarah's eyes went downcast. "Wish you would stay and help. But … you seem so happy, thinking this is over. Everyone does."

"I wouldn't mind an actual victory once in a while, Sarah." Jim sighed, the shade of guilt and doubt suddenly rearing its ugly head within him again. "Look…"

"It can't be this easy," replied Sarah stubbornly, suddenly looking Jim straight in the eye. "And I know what you'll say – "tell that to Ashley Williams, to Charles Pressly, to Kelly Chambers and Praetor Fenix." Their deaths weren't in vain, Jim, but they certainly did not seal our victory."

"They sealed mine, darlin'." Jim grunted, glancing back the way he came. "Look – I came here to say goodbye and wish you both well, which I do. But I ain't budgin' on this. Galaxy looks in good shape for a change, leastways for as an idiot like me can tell. Maybe everything's fallin' apart behind the scenes and I can't see it, but I can't keep drivin' myself that way. I've killed enough people. Seen enough friends die."

"And I pray you don't see any more. Goodbye, Jim." Sarah extended her hand, when really all Jim wanted to do was give her a hug and tell her it was going to be okay. He instead shook it stiffly, the happy feelings dying a little in his chest. Then she stepped back, waiting for Jim to turn away.

"Make sure she don't kill herself over nothin', Garrus," said Jim, staring the turian right in the eye. "And if I'm wrong and she's right … watch her back, you got me?"

"Sometimes she turns invisible and it gets a little difficult, but I'll do my best." Garrus smiled at him, and it at least looked genuine. It made Jim feel a little better as he turned around and walked away, the bulkhead slamming shut behind him.

Jim wished he could feel surprise as he saw Zeratul waiting for him at the top of the ramp, but again, telepath. A small part of Jim could not help but note the complete lack of attention the various civilians and C-Sec officers gave Zeratul as they passed him by – for better or for worse, people had become acclimatized to the protoss.

"Good to see you, man." Jim stopped before the Dark Templar, trying to guess what "dire portent" he would try on him this time.

"James Raynor. You seem committed to peace, no matter the cost." Zeratul shifted, his cloak rasping against his neck as he did. "Would that I follow your example. The Matriarch bids us leave this place and allow the other races to develop as they choose … yet I cannot shake the specter of the collector base from my mind, nor the countless other shades that haunt me. My traitor brothers. The words of Duran. The Shadow Broker."

Jim folded his arms. "You got anything conclusive, man? 'Cuz I was lookin' to say goodbye, not argue about a maybe apocalypse. I just did that, it sucked."

"No … I will not trouble your spirit, not when it is higher than I have ever seen it before." Zeratul bowed before Jim, making him feel a touch uncomfortable, especially as a few people did stop and stare at this display. "Live well, James Raynor. You will be forever welcome on Shakuras."

 _Huh. That would be a place to take the kids, if kids ever become part of the equation._ He had brought it up once to Miranda a few weeks ago, but she hadn't seemed receptive. _Well, plenty of time for that to change, maybe._

"Adun toridas, Prelate." Jim inclined his head. "If you see Tali or Legion, let 'em know I said hi."

Zeratul vanished from sight, something Jim might once have exclaimed at, and now he just knew it as how Zeratul ended conversations. _Just leaves the UED crew._ He returned to the elevator, this time echoing Matt and pressing the button for the Presidium. _Bit of a walk from where I'll be, but what the hell. My legs don't hurt today._

The hanar and drell might have left the Citadel behind, but the crowds of aliens looked more diverse than ever. Batarians and turians chatted amiably at restaurant tables, being served drinks by terrans and asari. Protoss still strode proud and tall through the crowds, sometimes stopping to answer the questions of passersby, no matter how inane, their golden armor shining in the simulated sun.

Quarians and geth now dotted the Presidium as well, although never together, unfortunately. The geth units now bore strange runes and golden inscriptions on their chassis, part of their ongoing spiritual assimilation with the protoss or whatever the hell it could be considered. The quarians on the other hand mostly partnered with each other, asari, or terrans, but at least the conversations Jim overheard seemed amiable.

Of course, there was also the UED, the odd duck in galactic affairs. He had yet to see a man of them out of uniform when they hit the town, and their conversations with their terran counterparts always seemed so brief and stilted. _Probably still just growin' used to the state of things._ Anderson and his people at least had adjusted.

When he finally arrived at the Presidium ambassador offices, it was to an argument. Commander Shepard talked in loud and clear tones to some poor lower ranking officer, who clutched a datapad tightly in both hands, his face white.

"I'm going to need more explanation than that, soldier!" she said, somehow towering over the man who had about seven inches of height on her. "I made a case, a damn good one, and I know the Admiral personally. He would not deny my request without telling me why. Well?"

"I don't know, ma'am!" babbled the soldier, stepping back. "I'm sorry, that's all I've got."

"Don't shoot the messenger, Shepard." Jim nodded to the soldier, who gulped and made a stealthy run for it as Shepard turned back to scowl at him. "What's the problem?"

"Asked for a posting on Tuchanka," she said, teeth gritted. _Looks so tiny out of her suit … so easy to forget._ "Figured I'd be a good fit, seeing as I know Wrex and Grunt personally, and I know they've been transferring shit tons of medics there." She raised her arms in consternation. "Citadel's nice, but there's not much for me to do on the _Normandy_ , and the artificiality of it … grates, after a while. It doesn't feel like you're in space."

Jim looked up at the simulated sky on the ceiling, catching a few snippets of artificial birdsong as he did so. "Yeah, I can get your point. So, you didn't get the posting?"

"I didn't get a response for the longest time until today." Shepard balled her fist. "Request denied. That's all Stukov had for me. Now, okay, normally I'd respect the chain of command, but seeing as we seem to be stuck away from home with no sign of returning in the near future, I'd _really_ appreciate a little more than "request denied."" She stopped and took a deep breath. "Sorry. Shouldn't have taken it out on that poor corporal."

"Maybe you could try going through Anderson?" asked Jim, pointing up the stairs to his office. Shepard just shook her head.

"He's got enough to worry about, acting as the de facto UED council member. I don't need him sticking his neck out for me, after everything he's done." Shepard sighed. "Wrex and Grunt haven't been returning my emails either. It's frustrating. Thought I had made some friends there. Guess not."

"Give it some time. Tuchanka might not have the best extranet terminals." Jim glanced up the stairs again. "I'm headin' out tomorrow. To Eden Prime."

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." To Jim's surprise, Shepard put her arms around him and hugged tightly. "Least somebody's going home. Promise to keep in touch? Every time you don't reply to an email I scream at a corporal…"

"I'm sure I'll have plenty of free time to keep up on my correspondence." Jim squeezed back and then pulled away, smiling. "If you see Jenkins and Alenko, let 'em know they're always welcome for a beer round my place."

"You say that now, but you should see the way Jenkins mooches…" Shepard saluted. "A pleasure serving with you, Mr. Raynor. You're all right … for a backwards colonial."

"And you're all right for a raging fascist, ma'am."

The two parted ways with a laugh, and Jim stepped up the stairs. David Anderson's office did not wait far beyond.

Jim knocked on the door and waited. He didn't hear any voices on the other side, but that could just mean he was dealing with his newest and least favorite enemy: paperwork. He waited patiently, wondering if he should have called ahead.

The door retracted and a disheveled Rear Admiral Anderson blinked at him.

"Jim! Thank the human spirit, thought you were Udina or Aldaris." He motioned for Jim to enter, which he did. "Heard you're finally heading home. Have a seat."

"Thanks, Admiral." Behind David's desk stretched a balcony that overlooked the Presidium in all its glory, skycars whizzing by and waters shimmering below. Jim took a seat before David's desk, waiting for the man to join him. After a few moments David sat with a sigh, snapping his laptop screen down and shaking his head.

A faint draft issued from it into the stuffy office where Jim suspected David spent far too much time for his liking.

"I know Udina's under a lot of strain representing three different nations in one, but he shouldn't have to take it out on me." David rubbed the stubble atop his shaven head. "I'm certainly not craving any more ground ops after our last one, but I sure as hell didn't come out all this way to play politician. It sure as hell wasn't covered in the manual. And Stukov's demands-" He stopped himself, and Jim looked away, trying to indicate that none of this was of interest or importance to him. _Which frankly, it ain't._

"He thinks I'm getting too comfortable with aliens and colonials," said David. "He might be right. Pretend you didn't hear that. I know I do important work and am happy to serve."

"But off the record you're all frustrated as hell and want to go home." Jim gave him a sympathetic smile. "You're a rear admiral. Has to be something you can do."

"Make noise. Make a lot of noise." David stood, motioning for Jim to rise with him. They walked together to the balcony, palms pressed against its edge, taking in the sights and smells. "Hasn't worked so far. Heard Shepard's transfer request went denied, and I couldn't get any information on why that was." He glanced at Jim. "Don't tell her I did that for her, or that I knew already. She doesn't need to know."

"You got it." Jim stared out over the Presidium. "Sorry to hear about all that. It's uh, it's my last day here."

"Good. Get out of here before they somehow make a politician out of you." David laughed and clapped Jim on the back. "We had a dossier on you, you know. Before we came out here. I read your history; it's astounding what you and your crew survived. The fact that you get to walk away and live a happy life afterwards…" David shook his head. "Perhaps the UED is wrong. Perhaps there might be a God. I know Williams thought so."

"Really?" Jim looked to David, whose jaw was now set, his eyes staring straight ahead at the horizon, unblinking. _Looks hard like he's trying not to think._ "I know she spent a lot of time with Trome. Thought you were above that stuff."

"Most of us, Raynor, most of us." David sucked in a breath and returned his gaze. "Keep that to yourself. If I ever get around to writing some scandalous autobiography, I plan to leak that particular fact as proof that one can believe in a higher power and still kick ass. Miss Williams was a UED marine to her dying breath, and one of the few Earth Christians left, besides. The two were not mutually exclusive to her."

They stood there in silence for a moment.

"Think your government will eventually ease up about some of this shit?" Jim did not dare look at David as he asked this. "I mean – I saw some religious crazies back on Mar Sara, but most folks just wanna be left alone to believe what they will. Can't believe you guys banned it…"

"When we get home I intend to do my utmost. A much louder retirement than yours." David smiled at him, and extended an ungloved hand. Jim shook it firmly. "But that is for another day, if one that I hope is close at hand. If the universe is kind, we may meet again, Jim."

"I woulda laughed at that once. "If the universe is kind."" Jim shook his head, smiling. "But now … I dunno. It can get better at least. Godspeed, Admiral."

Jim left David's office behind with a strange heaviness in his heart. _Harder than I thought to say goodbye to some of these folks, even if it's only likely temporary._ He tried to whistle a merry tune as he walked back to his ship and his home for so many years, but it just sounded wrong. _Silence is fine._ When he entered the elevator and turned around to punch the numbers, he took one last look at the colorful Presidium before it disappeared behind the doors.

"Who knows. Might visit again sometime." Jim nodded to himself. _Yeah. Why not?_

A familiar salarian waited for him at the departure lounge, one who had taken care of him during his very first stay at the Citadel, in fact.

"Woulda thought you'd be long gone by now, Mordin." Jim cocked his head and extended a hand as he approached, ready for one last unexpected, but entirely welcome goodbye.

"Had to come back. Urgent personal matter." Mordin checked behind Jim, but the departure lounge was empty. "Urgent! Require assistance, but afraid to ask! Afraid to impose."

"We're all friends here." Jim shrugged. "You've fixed up my legs, what? Two, three times now? Try me."

"Old acquaintance, somewhere on Tuchanka." Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Partner, assistant … apprentice, of a sort. Maelon Haplorn. Kidnapped! Or at least, held on krogan homeworld. Reliable source, Major Kirrahe. You have met. Attempted to reach Tuchanka – access blocked by UED!"

"Everyone's tryin' to get to Tuchanka all of a sudden." Jim folded his arms. "Not sure I can help you with that. UED sure as hell won't let me through, if Shepard can't even get a posting there."

"Heard rumors." Mordin's voice dropped an octave. "Pirates in Terminus. Slave takers. Grab batarians, salarians, turians … occasionally some vorcha … take them to Tuchanka. Not sure why. Dislike implications. Fear violations of Citadel law. Or worse."

 _This ain't your business._ Jim felt the awful urge to just walk away, but Mordin had sought him out. It only seemed fair to at least listen.

"Know of at risk areas for capture. Aware of own value as target. Fear of being watched. STG less responsive. Possible internal sabotage? Unclear. Dalatrasses silent. Multiple requests for retirement. Require transport to Terminus in safe, uncompromised vessel."

"One last run for the _Norad II_?" Jim stroked his beard. "This ain't gonna put any of what's left of my crew at risk, right?"

"No pirate dare attack battlecruiser, let alone battlecruiser of _Norad II's_ size." Mordin sucked in a quick breath. "No government dare disappear either of us, when entire galaxy worships ground we work on. Guarantee safety of your crew. Own safety? Irrelevant, must discover Tuchanka happenings. Will relay information to you, if feel relevant."

"If you say so," said Jim, feeling increasingly like this was a bad idea. "You uh, you sure about this? Not sure the UED's going to take kindly to you pokin' around in their affairs."

"Not certain will approve of UED affairs." Mordin took in deep breath. "If modification of Genophage … if _unethical_ modification of Genophage … will take very unkindly indeed."

"Well, I got nothin' against this." Jim patted Mordin on the shoulder. "Get your things and get on board. We head out at eight in the morning tomorrow."

"Understood." Mordin hurried off to the elevator and Jim returned to his ship, head full of doubts again.

When he entered his quarters, it was to find a disheveled Miranda packing a suitcase, much to his dismay.

"Hope you were plannin' on sayin' goodbye, darlin'." Jim leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I was." The clothes flew into the open suitcase in a heap of unusual disorder for Miranda. "Fresh news from Umojan space. They've spotted Duran."

"Or someone who just looks like him." Jim shook his head. "Darlin', seems like that man knows how to disappear. If he shows up, it's because it's either someone else, or he wanted to be found. The first one's a waste of time, the second's probably a trap. You absolutely sure-"

"I will not be bested by that perpetually smiling cretin!" Miranda slammed the suitcase shut and stared fiercely up at Jim. "I made a promise that I would hunt him down if he ever fully went rogue, and that day came and went."

"And he made a promise to me that he wouldn't hurt you if it came to this," said Jim quietly. "I hope he's a person of his word, just like you."

"The man lied with every other breath – the only difficulty is discerning what, precisely, were the lies!" Miranda pulled her hair into a quick ponytail and slipped her laptop into a small bag. "Deals with hanar and drell … even Zeratul could not figure the man out! He worked for us for almost seven years – what if it was just to sabotage us from within somehow? Who was he? What did he want? We have to know. _I_ have to know."

Miranda pulled up her bags, one in each arm, and strode across the room, dropping them just before reaching Jim. She reached up and pulled his head down. Their lips met and her mouth opened, and Jim tried to tell himself that his was not another goodbye.

Despite obviously being in a hurry, Miranda did not pull away for quite some time, running her hand through Jim's hair while the other held on to his back. When she did finally part from him it was slowly, with a grim smile on her face.

"Don't you go running off while I finish this," she said, voice low. "And don't think I don't value what we have. It's just … I will not accept defeat. Not from him."

"I understand." Jim squeezed her shoulder. "And my runnin' days are over. Just don't do anything too crazy, alright?"

Miranda cocked her head. "I thought we long ago agreed that you were the crazy one?" And with that she gave him one last kiss and grabbed her bags, walking as fast as she could with ninety pounds of clothing, weaponry, and electronic equipment as she could.

"One last run," said Jim, watching her disappear around the corner. "Then home … home for good."


	55. The Foundation of Empires

**Tychus**

Tychus woke to the alarm as if he had been expecting it, his body turning in synch with his hand, which slapped down on the haptic interface with just a bit too much force. The crunch jolted him further awake, and he sat up abruptly, prompting a mild protest from Jack.

"Dumbass," she muttered, turning back to sleep and waving him off. Tychus paid her little mind, breathing heavily and rising from the bed. He stomped over to the window and parted the curtains, looking down at a city both recognizable and familiar.

 _Moria sure looks a sight different from just a few months ago._ Tychus snorted and leaned against the dirty window with one hand, pressing his crooked nose against the glass and peering down at the masses of filth below them.

No KMC city ever slept. That was the old saying. His mother had even said it, now and again, when his dad was out of earshot. _Probably ended up here eventually, working the kitchen at one of these shitty hotels._ Of course, the old saying no longer appeared totally true. The UED occupation had changed that.

The streets, lit in musty orange neon, possessed few stragglers where months before they would have bustled. The vendors had shut their food trucks up tight, locking them in triplicate. The few who did wander the streets did so inevitably in groups of three or more, most of them bearing either Blue Suns or UED combat suits. Those without either moved furtively with ID at the ready, and as Tychus looked at the streets below, someone even now was being accosted by swaggering UED pinks being overseen by a rather staid Earth Officer.

Tychus blew out through his nostrils, fogging the glass. He pushed himself off the window with another grunt, turning instead to the heap of clothes he had left on a chair to the window's left. He pulled them on without haste, jeans, vest, and jacket, privately bracing himself for the cold and the smell that waited for him once he was out of the hotel.

Tychus checked himself in a smudged mirror, wondering how much of the dirt on his face was just the glass. He rolled his neck and felt the cracks, his eyes never leaving the feral-looking fucker staring back at him from the mirror. _A right sight. Can't wait to get off this hellhole._

That just left the package sitting innocuously next to the bed, a small but deceptively heavy suitcase sealed with an electronic lock. He wrapped his knuckles around the handle, taking a brief moment to feel the reassuring strength of his hands. _Never woulda guessed I was in cryo not so long ago._ He pulled it upwards and tried not to wince at the slight pain in his right shoulder. _Gonna have to swap hands._ Tychus strode to the door, turning back at the last second.

"If I don't come back, avenge me. Then get a tattoo of my name across your forehead."

"I'll do one of those things." Jack blew him a very lazy kiss without even opening her eyes or turning to him for that matter. "Have fun going to church."

 _Right._ Tychus left the room behind to be immediately blasted by a wave of cold air. The lighting of the hotel corridor made everything look like it had been marinated in piss, not helped by the suspect sogginess of the floor. He squelched his way to the ramshackle elevator, praying that he would not be sharing it with anyone.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a blessedly vacant elevator. Tychus wiped the sleep from his eyes with his free hand and boarded the cramped thing, jamming his thumb into the ground floor button. It didn't even light up, but the doors still grinded shut a few seconds later. Tychus took the precious few moments to drop the suitcase and check his omnitool. He fiddled with the settings, praying that he didn't end up having to use any incineration blasts. _Man, day after day I keep thinking about getting a second one on the other arm. Shows what Swann knows._

The thought only made him feel sad, though. _Coulda been me on that collector base._ Sure, it would have been unlikely and sure, it looked fucking horrifying fighting those things, but … he only had to sniff the foul air and breathe in the unknown stench to know that he had been downgraded into a much less glamorous kind of lifestyle than the rebellion shit the Raiders had been pulling. _And Jimmy's a celebrity. Good on him, saving the galaxy and all that._

The doors ground open again, revealing the filthy ground floor. Tychus stepped through the lobby with a wrinkled nose, glancing at the receptionist's desk to make sure no one sat there. Upon seeing the vacant seat, he nodded to himself and pressed the entrance door open with his foot, sidling into the night.

The Morian skyline was not what it used to be. Many billboards remained atop the rooftops but stood out only as black outlines against the starless skies, unpowered but still standing. Only a handful of screens still blared from atop thick metal poles and the occasional tenement, and their advertisements had nothing to do with selling products.

"One species united under one banner!" Donny Vermillion, his outfit now exchanged entirely for white clothing. Once, the weasel had spent seven days a week talking up Arcturus Mengsk, the devil, and how the Terran Dominion was the best hope for mankind. Really, all he had to do was substitute "Dominion" and "Mengsk" for "UED" … and "UED."

The strangest thing was how eagerly the folks in the Terran Dominion lapped it up, as if all it took was Nova's testimony to completely change how the Earth invasion was interpreted. _Guess they really did come as liberators. Still a pain in my ass, though._

Tychus activated his omnitool, his wrist briefly flaring into life. His body distorted before fading entirely, taking the suitcase with it. Jack always referred to it as a shitty cloak, and it was definitely no substitute for the bullshit the ghosts and protoss were able to pull … but it was good enough to get from point A to point B without getting arrested.

Tychus hurried, shoulder aching as he angled the suitcase in such a way that it helped pull him forward. He slipped into the first alley in his route, crouching behind one of the new pristine dumpsters that the UED had slapped down around the city. He deactivated the cloak and waited for the recharge, squinting at the red graffiti someone had already spray-painted on to the side. _Earthers something something. Probably not positive. Ol' Tychus ain't stupid._ The omnitool shone again and he began his next invisible jaunt.

Even the patrols were few and far between, despite the capital city being a festering hive of seditious intentions. Tychus took care to keep his distance, though. His footsteps sure as hell weren't muffled, and he wouldn't put it past the trigger-happy fucks to start shooting up the city in case they suspected an invisible target. Despite his precautions however, one patrol came uncomfortably close to the fourth alley he ducked into. As Tychus took cover behind a few rusty barrels, four soldiers in white stopped at the alley entrance, two of them opening their visor to let out billowing smoke.

"Heard we're getting krogan backup," said the one on the left, a lady with a Tyrador twang. Even in the dim, Tychus could see the dim patch of color on her shoulder that marked her as a pink, a colonial pledged to the UED. "Part of the Earther exfil plan."

"What the hell we gonna do with those? Bash some of these older walls down? Have them eat some of the rebels?" One of the men in the middle snorted and then spat a smoking cigar to the ground, crushing it underfoot with a dull crunch. "Wouldn't trust one of them alien fucks with my back, they're all psychotic. Where'd you hear this?"

"Earth officer at the command center." The lady yawned. "Says they can hold territory real good, if you can keep 'em happy and sober. I dunno. I'd trust 'em more than I'd trust an asari."

Tychus knew his omnitool had recharged the cloak, but no way in hell would he be able to sneak by this lot without them hearing. He instead counting off the seconds, knees feeling sore from kneeling against the hard ground, praying for the bastards to go somewhere else.

"The Earthers shut down Corner Co. yesterday, did you hear?" That made Tychus blink. _Another big Morian company bitin' the dust._ "That's what, five of the six major commercial shipping companies down? Surprised the Morians didn't start rioting over this one, too."

"They're learning their place at long damn last." _Huh. That boy sounds like he came from Mar Sara. How the hell he end up in a Pink uniform?_ "Been readin' up on my history. Sounds like Moria became everything the UED tried to avoid on Earth. 'Parently there's no big enterprises on the homeworld no more. Shut it all down, got a big government instead."

"You say that like it's a good thing." Another woman, sullen, Korhal accent.

One of the marines hooted. "What? You gonna argue with the fuckers that came in here and stomped Mengsk flat in four months? They own the Koprulu Sector now, Di, excusin' the protoss."

"And the Umojans … for now." The Tyrador woman, blowing smoke into the chill night air. "Better hush up with that talk, Private. The future is UED now, ain't a good idea to bait the eagle. C'mon. Time to move out."

The soldiers shambled off, leaving behind a small carpet of stomped out cigars. Tychus finally breathed freely, shifting off his knees and wincing at the raw pain. Then he faded out again, hurrying from point to point, the church now looming in his view.

Tychus never had much time for God. Some time for Trome, sure, but hearing about the mercy of Jesus when he'd spent a lifetime crushing face and shooting various chemicals into his body had just seemed stupid, a little hypocritical. _And Ol' Tychus is many things, but a hypocrite he ain't. Faithful … he ain't._

During the briefing for his trip, Harrot took the time to show Tychus a picture of the church they would be using as a meeting point. The picture showed how it used to be all lit up with neon and bright lights, with words such as "FAITH" and "LOVE" blaring from atop stained glass windows.

"Wearily: this church used to hold three thousand people for each service and featured a high tech sound stage for their band." Harrot had shaken his head. "Amused: the KMs took the same approach to their faith as they did everything else. If it they had not taken the time to dress up the church, who could say if anyone would even have noticed it?"

"UED doesn't like that shit though, do they?" Tychus had squinted at the photograph, wondering how much money a faith could really need. "Guessin' this place is abandoned?"

"Uncertain: all places of worship have been co-opted for social works by the government. What social work this one is contributing to – who can say?"

Now Tychus stared at the grim monolith before him, a ruined testament to KMC beliefs. Its windows now glinted dully in the city lights, entirely unadorned. No flashy signs remained mounted atop the parapets. Indeed, no lights at all shined from within or without the stone building, which Tychus could only take as a good sign. After crouching one last time in the closest alley, he shimmered out of sight and hustled to the main doors, checking each side of the street to make sure no patrols were coming by.

Tychus's knees burned as he climbed the stone steps up to the doors. He counted the seconds he had left, hoping that no one would be looking out any windows as he opened the door. _Six seconds._ Tychus puffed out a stream of hot air into the night and practically rammed the wooden double doors open, almost falling through to the other side. _Made a bit of a bang there._ He turned around and closed the doors shut behind him with as little noise as possible, his arms rematerializing before his face as he did so. Then he noticed the smell.

"Worse than the damn hotel." Tychus wrinkled his nose and then gagged, covering his mouth with his free wrist. _Urgh. What is this? They turn places of worship into storage for septic tanks?_ Knowing the UED, that honestly would not have surprised him. Pinching his nose shut with his free hand and taking only shallow breaths, Tychus looked around him.

The walls and floor were smooth limestone, surprisingly pretty. A marble fountain now devoid of running water stood still austere and proud in the center of the entrance, a bronze plaque adorned to the front of it, although Tychus could not read the words in the dark. To his right, a small path led to a medium sized room with a chalkboard and a few bookshelves – probably an area for the kids. To his left, a heavy wooden door with a blank name plaque next to it, likely an abandoned office. All in all if it weren't for the smell, Tychus would have called this a nice-looking church, insofar as he could judge. _And I ain't even got to the proper parts yet. Bet they got a statue of Jesus in solid gold … although the UED probably melted it down already, made a bunch of transistors out of it…_

The smell only grew worse as Tychus approached the doors to the church proper, suitcase still in hand. _Alright, time to finish this, go home, get drunk. UED worlds make me antsy._ He pushed open the door slowly, eyes watering as a wave of rotten air greeted him upon opening the door.

Tychus had just enough time to see the pile of bodies before something hard struck him in the throat. Reeling and gasping for air, the suitcase fell with a clatter and Tychus clutched at his Adam's apple, face reddening. A second unseen blow nailed him in the stomach, doubling him over just in time for an elbow to strike his back and knock him to the floor. He lay there convulsing, throat closed, choking, feeling like he was suffocating. A hard boot turned him over, and his assailant appeared with a shimmer.

"Terran male. Tattoos on neck. Check for ID and possible gang affiliation." A ghost with a woman's voice, staring down at him through a mask with red eyes, the gas mask rasping harshly in the air. Tychus stared up at her, more terrified of his continuing inability to breathe than the impending capture. As his throat finally complied with his body's fervent demands to open and he sucked in a deep rattling breath, however, that terror struck full force.

 _Shit shit shit shit-_

Rough hands pulled Tychus up; the ghost had brought marine associates, their pink shoulder patch looking like a splash of blood. As they lifted Tychus and dragged him along, more soldiers strode out from behind pillars, some in Blue Suns power armor. Only one soldier bore an actual UED suit, a bored looking woman with blonde shoulder-length hair whose helmet remained retracted. None of them paid any attention to the moldering heap of bodies that had replaced the pews and altar, the source of a stench so vile and so ripe that Tychus coughed violently, the bile rising in his throat.

The UED officer activated her omnitool and shone a blue light in Tychus's eyes, scanning for something. The omnitool flashed red.

"Not on our databanks. No registry with any citizenship." She sounded mildly impressed. "No fingerprint or optical records within the UED, KMC, Dominion, or any Umojan records we have access to."

"Shadowguard?" asked one of the Blue Suns, catching Tychus by surprise. He recognized the voice of a batarian when he heard it.

"Shadowguard wouldn't have walked into this," replied the ghost, stepping in front of Tychus. She grabbed him by the chin and turned his head with surprising force, looking for something. "ITSA maybe. Bone structure, size, and tattoos indicate probable Dominion outer rim origin, maybe one of the mining worlds." She looked beyond Tychus. "Any luck with that suitcase?"

"Electronic lock, reinforced exterior," called back one of the marines. "Might have to get a techie on this one."

"His name is Tychus Findlay," said the ghost suddenly, and Tychus knew he was fucking toast. "He does not know the contents of the suitcase, only that this is the meeting point … and he ran with Raynor's Raiders before being kicked out."

"Well now," said the UED officer, folding her arms and looking Tychus up and down. "That is interesting. I think we might have struck gold here." She turned around and reached for her ear with an armored fist. "Bentley, Joy; get down here, I need you on captive transfer." She turned around again to smile at Tychus in a way that made his stomach churn. "Rejoice, colonial – I was planning on dumping you on that pile and shooting you in the head as just one more lowlife for the furnaces, but it's your lucky day. Depending on how you play your cards, Mr. Findlay, you might just get to live." The smile quickly turned into a frown as she looked away again. "Bentley, Joy, respond."

"I'm guessin' this ain't gonna work, but you sure we can't make a deal?" Tychus tried to smile at the woman, who paid little attention to him. "I got friends. I got money. I got friends with money."

"Go check on those two, looks like their comms aren't working." Two Blue Suns disappeared out the front door, stomping all the way. The UED officer then redirected her attention to Tychus. "And, of course, you are quite correct. No soldier of the UED can be bought, correct?" The others uttered muffled and not entirely convincing affirmations. Only the ghost remained silent, watching Tychus. The other soldiers gathered around the two of them, creating a ring of steel.

"I fought with you fucks on Korhal and watched an emperor die," growled Tychus, his eyes watering and his stomach filling with worms at the rankness of the bodies. "Don't suppose that'll count for anything?"

"Plenty of people fought against us that day. Some of those people are now staunch allies." The officer shrugged. "The reverse is also true. Where the hell have those two gone, now? Bentley? Joy? Dax?"

"Probable situation," said the ghost, pulling the rifle from her back. "I told them to check the upstairs thoroughly."

"Who would be stupid enough to try something here? Fan out and cover each other!" The officer's helmet pulled over her face, the steel connecting and latching together, obscuring her face from view. With a wave of her hand, they shoved Tychus to the side. He fell with a squelch, landing atop an ocean of outstretched filthy hands, stiff and fragrant. Tychus's vision swam as he tried to struggle upright, feeling palms and fingers, rubbery faces and sliding bits of flesh as he frantically attempted to push himself upright. He held still when he saw the officer had drawn a pistol and levelled it as his chest.

"Sit," she ordered. "Still, now. No moving until I figure out what's going on."

"Gunshot!" yelled the ghost, but Tychus had not heard a sound. The officer turned around, pistol remaining fixed on Tychus's sternum.

"I didn't hear-"

A bloom of red erupted from the officer's wrist, her hand and pistol flying from her in a bloody arc. She had just enough time to look down before two more holes punched through her chest and neck, sending her down with a gurgle. Tychus remained very still, hearing similar sounds throughout the room, followed by a few muffled crunches and a moan.

Tychus sat as still as he was able, trying very hard not to breathe. He heard no further sounds. Very slowly he rose, slipping a little on … something … but gradually he came to a half crouch and walked on something that was not decaying flesh or bruised bone.

Then he turned around just in time for a gloved hand to cover his mouth.

"Easy there, brother." An enormous man with a mane of hair and yellow eyes, muffling Tychus's shout. His armor ran with power lines just like the ghosts, and he clutched a long, faintly smoking rifle in his other hand. "We never had the pleasure, though I saw you on Korhal. Gabriel Tosh. One of Cerberus's Phantoms." He grinned, exposing large flat teeth. "I going to remove my hand now. Not a peep, okay?"

Tychus nodded and the Phantom stepped back, his compatriots emerging all around him, six in all. The armored bodies lay all around them, blood pooling under shattered visors. One carried the ghost over his shoulder.

"Takin' prisoners?" Tychus grunted weakly, pointing to the ghost. Tosh chuckled.

"Giving her a new lease on life. Feed her a little terrazine, encourage her to think a bit about her life choices…" Tosh grinned even wider. "Funny how the UED bans resoc but keeps mindwiping their ghosts over and over. They know where the power lies, where they're weakest." He looked behind him. "Is the suitcase secure?"

"Goddamn right it is. Beautiful." Another man, stepping from the shadows of the lobby, coughing into his hand. A sleeve of tattoos ran up his right arm, with another prominent Blue Suns tattoo announcing his allegiance on his neck. He looked Tychus up and down before barking with laughter. "Ha! This is the man Raynor paid us for? He looks like he huffs vespene in his free time!"

"I'm gonna need to know what's goin' on," said Tychus weakly, taking a step back as his vision swam. "I was told the suitcase'd get picked up here."

"Cerberus was the buyer, brother. Thank you for your promptness." Tosh bowed his head. "And Mr. Zaeed Massani here is our associate."

"You killin' your own men now?" Tychus glanced at the windows, wondering if he could take a flying leap out of one and get the hell out of this craziness.

"Those were Vido's boys," said Zaeed dismissively, waving it off. "Blue Suns has gone to shit since the collectors hauled me off. Making deals with these fascists?" Zaeed snorted. "Vido can't see past the power they gave him. There's no place on Moria for people like him, anymore. The UED simply hasn't run out of things for him to brutalize yet. Same with me."

"You need not fear, brother." Tosh took a step forward and clamped down on Tychus's shoulder firmly. "We are friends here. I suspected Harrot would send you, given how you have fallen through the cracks. Is Jack still your companion?"

"She told you guys no already." Tychus looked the man in his off-color eyes. "I'm just the deliveryman. Don't want no part of this."

"I seem to recall you making a promise though, brother." Tosh did not blink. "To Mr. Harper. You promised to keep Mr. Raynor fighting, to not succumb to his softer side. No sooner do you leave him, he does just that. You weren't sure of the evil he wanted to confront were you, brother?"

"He proved me wrong, then he proved me right." Tychus looked away. "Reapers were real, but they weren't shit."

"Turn around, brother. Look evil in the face." Tosh released Tychus and gestured. Tychus turned.

Hundreds of faces stared back. Some had their lips pulled back, exposing still-white teeth. Some were bald. Others had hair. Most were clothed, although he could see most of the bullet holes, the majority planted in the back of the neck. Brown smears ran up to the pile, and in the silence, Tychus could hear buzzing over the pounding of his heart. _Flies. Flies mean maggots._ He covered his mouth with his wrist, gagging.

"It's hard to fight shadow foes," said Tosh from behind him, "to become outraged at the atrocities we never see, that are so far away. If no Council ships had burned at Mengsk's behest over Tarsonis, would the Council have seen the atrocity the same way? Of course not. It could have been written off as unfortunate happenstance, the victims all too impersonal. The Reapers were even worse in this regard, striking at random. Only the ITSA could fully appreciate what they were doing, and they chose to lash out at the batarians misguidedly."

"What do you want from me?" choked Tychus, turning his head away from the carnage, his breathing turning ragged. "Just a low time crook, now. You got your weapons or … whatever it is."

"Something that'll even the odds against those Earth fucks," said Zaeed cheerfully, lifting the suitcase with one hand.

"They turned this place into storage for the many corpses they have created," continued Tosh, unabated. "The morgues fill up, you see, and the KMs are slow to run out of rebels. Every time a summary execution is carried out, the body cannot be left in the street. Where better to leave them, than at defunct places of worship? They mean nothing anymore, after all, and no one would dare visit them."

"I get it. The UED are sick." Tychus staggered back, away from Tosh, away from the bodies. "What, exactly, am I supposed to do about it?" He bared his teeth. "I ain't a Raider. I ain't a hero. Got kicked out that club, did a poor job at it. I'm made to steal things and beat people up. Shit like this…" Tychus spread his hands hopelessly. "…best I can hope is to stay the fuck out of the way. They can't keep this up forever."

"Just long enough to stamp out the loudest resistance." Tosh chuckled, shaking his head, still not blinking. "They will bring order over time, this is true. A united human species even, something to terrify the Council and protoss alike. All it takes is to first make a foundation of corpses. History's price, one might say. Inevitable, some would argue. All great civilizations began with the shedding of blood." Tosh stilled clenching his free fist. "Mengsk did the same on Tarsonis. It was no more justified then. We will not stand for it now. That is why we are here. That is why we fight, still, even as others commit to this "peace" we hear is becoming so popular these days."

"What am I supposed to do?" repeated Tychus, shaking his head, eyes wide. "I got armor, I got a gun. But I ain't an army. I ain't a ghost." His eyes darted to the bodies again.

"Common men slew the emperor. You saw it happen." Tosh lifted his rifle and cradled it in his arms. "Common men might yet slay the eagle. I would ask you to honor your pledge, Tychus Findlay, with or without Jack and Xeltan. I would ask you to go to Eden Prime and awaken that sleeping giant."

"Little Jimmy Raynor," muttered Tychus. "The people's hero."

"Harper would have him look evil in the face and realize the cost of his peace." He gestured to an associate, who produced a small cylinder of metal in gloved hands. "He would have you honor your pledge. Promise us … sign a contract in blood." The other Phantom stepped forward, proffering the cylinder. _I know a detonator when I see one._ He accepted it with shaking hands.

"Massani can slip out of here by pulling rank. We have our own methods." Tosh smiled. "You, of course, have a ten second cloak. It will not last under careful scrutiny. They come to investigate the whereabouts of their broken squad."

"Let me guess. This is a distraction." Tychus turned the cylinder in his hands. He looked up. "You foundin' your own empire on blood? You care about collateral?"

"We do not line innocents up in the streets and shoot them, brother. We do not vivisect aliens." He shrugged. "They would not kill you, not if you explained what happened here. Your association would likely make you a prime candidate as a squad leader for pinks. "We have a former Raider working for us!" they would say, parading you in your white armor. "This man knows! Serve the Directorate! Serve humanity!" All it would cost you is something they claim does not exist, something this building used to glorify…"

"Get on with it," snapped Zaeed. "Either press the button or don't. You want to work for the Earthers, or you want to fight this? We planted bombs under the goddamn main command center, alright? Valid military target. Make up your bloody mind. If that pile of corpses won't convince you-"

Tychus flipped open the detonator. They watched intently.

"Jimmy would never forgive me if this hurt innocents," he warned. "None of you, neither."

"You have commendable morality for a self-confessed criminal, brother." Tosh inclined his head. "I can see your mind's eye, however. I know your choice already. And the people in that command center, they made theirs."

Tychus pressed the button. The windows flared orange and the boom tore through the night's sky. Then came the sirens. And the screaming.

"Welcome back to the fold, brother," breathed Tosh, figure framed in orange. "Now bring that conviction to Mr. Raynor. Rouse his anger. Bring him back to Cerberus."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: ...Mordin**


	56. Let It All Burn

**Mordin**

Tuchanka. Too long since last visit. Made sure to monitor Genophage, make certain of modification success. Pay homage to cost of life. Meant to make one more trip. Seven months left, doctors think, four months of good health. Then the bones will complain. Then the eyes will fail. Then the fingers will tremble.

Four months of good health left. Time enough for a salarian to make peace with himself and his legacy. Time enough to make one last difference. Chose to spend it deliberately captured.

"Hold still!" barked the human on the other side of the glass as the decontamination sequence began. Stood shoulder to shoulder with turian on one side, batarian on the other, both male, both fully naked. UED thorough; investigated every possible hiding place. Removed clothes, weapons, omnitools, translators. Suspected they would. Had to hide understanding of other races. Had to hide exact understanding of what the human had just yelled.

No one moved. The turian instinctively raised arms, understanding process, recognizing authority. Discipline born and bred in such beings, even those outside the Hierarchy itself. Recognized clan marking. Palanus, a Terminus turian colony. It didn't matter. No fear in the eyes of the turian, only stiff neck and sullen compliance. The decontamination finished quickly.

Three aliens entered from the left door, from the camps. Salarian, turian, batarian. Each to explain in halting tones just what was expected of us, the new prisoners. Clothes thrust roughly into our hands, patchwork and clearly modified from the human frame. The salarian spoke while averting eyes from me, gaze instead fixed on scabrous hands. Recognized cause of scabs, the type of mites. Could only nod and pretend helplessness and fear. Well, mostly pretend. Heart still pounded a little as led out with four rifles at our backs, all UED soldiers who kept helmets up.

Stench immediate as led out across short span of waste from processing facility to camps proper. Scent of burning overcome by much rawer odor. Batarian doubled over, all eyes watering, only a swift boot keeping him from stopping fully. No reaction from turian. After moment of consideration, opted to give in to base instinct and throw up. Make it convincing. Kept walking, however. Guard did not apply boot or butt of gun. Only paused to stare at steaming puddle for a moment, made sure to step around it.

Six large buildings, modified terran barracks extended for additional habitation. Aliens in various states of dress and lifelessness watched us approach. Could not help but notice fixation on shoes, ill-fitting and mass produced as they were. To slight surprise, all marched down length of rows of buildings, to far end. Ground squelched under foot, mix of mud and shit of various origins.

Far end of camp ran against UED walls. Sixteen feet high, solid concrete, ringed with barbed wire. Guard tower at each corner and between each corner, eight total. Could not help but approve at choice of design. Keep predators out, keep aliens in. Sturdy terran design. Or was it human? Lines seemed to blur as time went on. Where before distinction mattered to colonial and UED alike, now only of one mind. Terran, human, did not matter, just so long as same flag was flown.

Stopped at barracks six. Recognized numeral on side, painted in yellow. Wondered how many other prisoners in camp could do so. Would likely not get chance to ask. Doors swung open, revealed rows of bunk-beds, ill-kempt, stained, average of three occupants to each cot. Shoved inside with rough hands, UED soldiers grunting at us to figure out. Useless advice. Particularly because only one of the three understood.

Doors swung shut. Prisoners look to us with hungry eyes. Turians occupied beds closest to door, salarians in middle, batarians at other end. Vorcha, also, but they sat on the floor and clung to the walls, hissing at new arrivals. Races had naturally segregated themselves without guard input. Lack of translators made this unsurprising.

Three of us separated without a word. Wished could ask their names, but could not expose self just yet. Marched to salarian camp with as much confidence as felt was safe, stopped by thrust open hand of green tinted salarian, standing from bunkbed and drawing level with me.

"Old timer," he said, scanning my eyes to see if recognized words. _Duram dialect. Common to Union and Terminus._ "Where are you from? Where did they take you? Can you understand me?"

"Sur'Kesh once," replied quickly, keeping pose meek and humbled. Not good enough to feign accent for extended period of time. Had to keep story straight. "Dock worker on Prospero. Can understand just fine." The salarian laughed.

"Luckless. You must have been the last egg of the clutch. You have discovered the worst way to die in the galaxy."

"How so?" Took a moment to remember to look worried, to dilate the pupils and lick the lips. "They're going to kill me?"

The salarian motioned for me to follow. He walked with head bowed, back bent, legs shaking slightly. Pants and shirt stained with sweat and other things. Walked past batarians and out door. He pointed to squat terran building with white dome covering top of it, with trademark terran thrusters built into the base. Notably separate from rest of base. Command center lay to the left, sizeable distance away. Same with soldier housing beyond that. Only furnace, smoke curling into radioactive breeze, sat close.

"That's the science facility," said his companion, but already knew. "That's where we all eventually go. But sometimes the waiting kills you." Salarian turned back to me. "Keep your head down and don't trade your shoes. And keep away from the vorcha – if there's enough of them and the guards aren't looking, they'll strip you to the bone in seconds."

As if to underscore this, UED firebat stomped into view from around command center. Paused before random patch of earth, sent forth a gout. Vorcha emerged from ground, screaming, boiling feces dripping from it. Firebat did not let up with flame. Vorcha thrashed and fell to ground in smoldering heap.

"They're the only ones stupid enough to try and leave or jump the guards," said salarian, shaking head at display. "No idea why the terrans keep bringing them in here. They're monsters."

"The other camp?" Mordin pointed to the other series of worn down barracks, distant figures milling about.

"The women." Companion's face contorted. "Batarians and turians, mostly. Thought I saw a quarian over there, too. They don't last as long."

Nodded, stroking chin. Already wished had omnitool. Already wished had fire.

Companion all done with advice. Walked back to bunks. Followed suit, keeping eye on vorcha on walls. Watched back with yellow eyes, hungry eyes. Then came to bunks. No one offered to share. No officer had assigned. Companion did not return gaze, instead returned to his own cot, shared by one other. Sighed, looked around. Some stared back with challenge. Others averted eyes in guilt. No vacancies.

Two salarians lay side by side on one lower bunk, unmoving, barely registering. Three salarians below, sitting together, one smiling wicked smile.

"They're sick," they said by way of explanation, and could see it was so. Both lay unresponsive in own bloodstained liquid feces, breath shallow. Blood rose to face. Remembered oath. Remembered why took to medicine.

At same time, also familiar with triage. Also familiar with symptoms of Clim's Fever, and phases thereof. Both too far gone. Could only make comfortable.

To surprise of others, did just that. Surroundings different from norm, illness and wounds, blood and feces, same anywhere. Asked for bucket and water, received it. No sponge, however. No soap. Dripped water on face of afflicted, stirred life. Offered drink to them. Both murmured assent.

Familiar with stage three. Victim becomes ferociously thirsty and weak. Water hastens the end. Nothing else could be done without lab equipment. Needed bunk, unable to stand by. Would be painless. Made sure not to come in skin contact. Made sure to offer private prayer.

Never harm with medicine. Never kill with medicine. Never experiment on species capable of calculus.

Camp broke all three rules. Easy to see. But why?

Sat patiently at side of the two sick. Asked their names: Rale and Torsh. Neither from any great family. "Terminus trash," as they put it. Both from Omega, one taken by batarians, another by the UED directly. Caught illness during last week, after a brief plague.

"They took our shoes already." Torsh flexed his toes and grimaced. "They do that, first sign of weakness. Don't get sick. Don't grow old." By that remark, guessed their eyes were gone or going. They spoke in dry croaks.

"Do you think we'll get better?" Rale nudged Torsh with a shoulder. "I feel a little better. The water helped, I think."

Never harm with medicine. Never kill with medicine. Knew there was no hope. But did not need to share that information.

"What does UED do here?" asked. The three on the top bunk only laughed at that.

"Do you think knowing will make a difference? Do you think anybody cares?"

"Every morning they line us up. Every morning they pick five, maybe six people from our camp." Rale coughed and wiped away some blood. Wished had tissue, wished had painkiller. But did not. Could not even touch poor man if did. "They pick more from the women, I think. Sometimes they have jobs for us, menial ones. On those days, pray it doesn't rain. It burns the skin."

"Breakfast in the morning," said Torsh, sounding mournful. "No matter how hungry you get, don't eat the dextro food, that kills you for sure. Dinner at night. Not much for either. Make sure to stick with the others. The batarians can eat what we eat, and they're much bigger than us."

Looked at batarians. Always hard to look past distaste of them. All salarians in government work tended to. The soldiery always tasked to act like pirates, and the pirates always took slaves. Might change with protoss involvement, assuming not complete withdrawal from galaxy. Would not live to see it, however.

Seven months of life. Four months of good health. Spending it here.

Had little information beyond that. Never heard of any Maelon Heplorn. Despite being Tuchanka, had seen krogan only twice. Second time, only one came back from command center. Knew little about UED. Was one they feared, though.

"Every morning someone has to check the command center upper window," said Torsh, voice rasping, yet still fear in his tone. "If you see the gleam of a scope, that means it's one of the Bad Days. That means the captain's gotten bored."

"Black-haired terran," said Rale, sucking in a rattling breath. "If he tells you to do something, you do it quick. He has this sword – who carries a sword? I mean, really. But he loves using it. If he's not on the top floor with a rifle, it doesn't mean you're safe. He walks among us sometimes. Inspections. He likes cutting up turians. Something about the blue blood."

"And no one objects?" The three salarians above laughed again at this.

"No one cares!" said the one in the middle, so gaunt could count all individual ribs. "He's in charge. If he wants to go around slicing people up with a sword, who's going to stop him? The UED put him here to stick needles in us, they don't care if he's a lunatic."

"Look out for the ones with the red marks on their shoulder," said Rale, reaching out. Wished could reach back, clutch wrist and administer medicine. "They feel they got something to prove. They're the Koprulu ones, I think. They're mean. Just stay out of their way."

The light died outside. A bell rang from the command center and everyone rose with a peculiar mix of anticipation and bone-biting weariness. Some needed help to their feet, and not all received it. The vorcha alone seemed undaunted, scuttling on two legs or four for the doors before anyone else. No sign of weakness from them. As always, zerg had no weakness.

Ended up at back of line, customary for salarians as one told me. Batarians went third, turians went second, and vorcha went first. Disrupting this order was one sure way to spark riot. Riot was one sure way to instigate purge from guards. So waited at back, with no friend beyond the poor two lying in their own waste, begging for someone to convince guards to send back a bowl.

All six barracks converged at center where tables set up. Food served not by terrans, but instead mix of volunteers, mostly turian. Poured bowls of lukewarm liquid with order and efficiency, as expected, the same amount with each pour. Did not speak to those they served, not even other turians, instead simply glaring at each prisoner. Daring them to question quality or quantity. Looked in just as much ill health as those they served. Could not break cover. Asked in Keshi for bowls to take back to sick. Looked at me as if accusing blatant stupidity. Walked away before attracting ire.

Bowl and spoon provided, both mass produced plastic. Spoon clearly designed to accommodate human hands, giving turians some difficulty. Most simply tipped bowl directly back into mouth.

Only solid food provided was two pills, content unknown. Asking around, received only grunts and the occasional shake of the head. Most downed theirs, however, and followed suit. Could be nutrients or vitamins. Impossible to tell until further length of time spent here.

Two turians stood guard near a third, who squatted in the earth and strained to shit. They glared at anyone who passed by, daring them to comment or intervene. A batarian threw up in after drinking too fast, his compatriots offering mix of scorn and concern, as batarians wont to do. One vorcha drank soup before devouring plastic cup and plate when guards not watching. The zerg would adapt. They would survive.

Little else to do then. Darkness fell quickly, with all danger on Tuchanka this entailed. Retreated to barracks with others, slipping on filth, stomach not truly filled. Hoped pill not poison.

Returned to barracks, to the sick. Told them had tried to no avail. Thanked me, asked for more water. Stomach sinking, retrieved bucket and exited outside to dripping faucet. Three batarian followed me out with what he thought was stealth. Pretended ignorance. Pretended helplessness. Shot water into bucket. All three loomed behind me, seized roughly by shoulder.

"Shoes," said middle one, the largest, two eyes directed on me, others outside for guards. Pointed helpfully at shoes and then at self. "Now, pipsqueak."

"What would batarian need salarian shoes for?" asked in Terminus tradespeak, the language they used. All three paused in mild surprise. Quickly replaced by anger.

"Doesn't matter. Take them off."

Salarian doctrine: stupid to declare war. If hostility obvious, make sense to strike hard and fast. No guards watched. Pretending weakness at this point only invited exploitation.

So darted right, hand jabbing out, palm flat. Struck leftmost in throat, sent staggering. Wheeled about with speed, directing shoe to instep of middle batarian, watched him kneel. Ducked under swipe of third, jabbed three times in gut before following with quick poke at eyes, creating breathing room as reeled backwards. Closed fist and struck hard at middle, aiming for jaw. Down with gasp. Last batarian recovered from eye strike, lunged forward.

Stepped to side and poked hard at soft spot under ribs. Drove breath from batarian, natural reflex of species. Got behind, kicked hard at back of leg. Drove him down. Quick blow to side of head, close to upper set of eyes, left him on floor. Placed foot on throat, stared at open lower set of eyes.

Killed many people. Sometimes with tech, sometimes with guns, once with farming implements. If to be done, to be done well. Quick. Would only take few pounds of pressure with foot. Others helpless as well.

Released foot. Not willing to kill for shoes. Retrieved bucket and returned to tending sick. Doubted would survive to morning. Rale and Torsh. Sons of Terminus. Dead for who knew why. Would have to clean bed before inheriting it. Do best with water, perhaps torn strip of shirt. For first night, consigned to floor. Spent bulk of it thinking.

Salarians only need one hour of sleep. Most of this side of barracks remained active, trading scraps of cloth or smuggled pills. Rale and Torsh gasped for air, for more water. Granted request six times until finally close eyes and rest. Thin whistle escaped lips three hours later. Notified others, told guard would clean them out in morning. Sat on floor next to bodies, thinking.

Seven months of life left. Four months of good health. Spent here. Where was needed.

Morning came slowly. Little to do yet with no name to self, no allies to call on. The vorcha screamed and fought, the turians alternated night shifts, the batarians snored. The salarians looked on, only occasionally drifting off to barely needed sleep. Wondered where Maelon was. Consigned to furnace already, perhaps? Kirrahe said no, performing task for krogan. Genophage maybe? Genophage certainly. But why the camp? Why UED taking prisoners, telling Terminus to make slave runs?

Answers likely in science facility, where everyone went sooner or later. Have to wait for name on list. Or infiltrate.

Single salarian walked to door and first light. Opened as entire wake barracks watched. Distant pop, fell in heap with hole in head no sooner had poked it round edge. Captain clearly bored.

"That means we stay in here until breakfast," said one of the upper bunkers, one in middle with frightening gauntness. "If you have to go, do it in the corner. Don't try to run for it." He looked down at bed below. "Good thing you did for those two. Not sure why."

"Need their bed," replied bluntly, knowing that reputation as soft touch bad idea here. "Did not want to muscle in."

"Smart," said upper-bunker, nodding. "You don't look like much in a fight."

Glanced over at batarians from night previous. Stared back with dead eyes. Perhaps should have finished them. Perhaps would spend last months of life killing for shoes.

Bell rang from command center, different chime this time. Inspection, so went the word, from batarians and turians as well as salarians. Wondered what information others would have. What other races had seen. Whether they had heard the name Maelon Heplorn. Also wondered how UED would take presence of omniglot in camp. Poorly, most like. Violently poorly. Would have to approach with subtlety.

Lined up outside with others, adopting slouched posture of others. Only turians stood up straight, reminiscent of military parade instead of medical selection. Waited for long time outside barracks, shivering in chill, odor of feces and burning bodies stronger than would prefer. Then came captain. Unmistakable captain.

Flanked by two soldiers. Wore curved sword in scabbard on back. Shoulder length black hair, as described. Dangerous, bored look in eyes. Seen before, in other races as well as terrans. Think nothing of hurting others. Think nothing of being hurt. Life a fleeting distraction. Pointless. Worthless. Toying with others in unexpected ways – one of few ways to alleviate boredom. No other kind of man would kill with a sword if given opportunity.

Captain pointed at batarian. Batarian stepped forward, knees shaking. Soldier approached with needle, shot it into arm.

"Can you understand my words?" asked captain in English. Batarian nodded. Translator then. Not medicine. "Good."

Captain pointed at salarian. Salarian stepped forward with resignation and slight relief, no resistance. Received translator.

Captain pointed at two more salarians. No resistance. No glance at me. Then a turian.

Turian stepped forward, posture still stiff. Soldier lowered rifle and approached with needle. Turian looked soldier straight in eye and sprinted past without sound, back still stiff, a formal defiance. Soldier only shook head as turian went past. Single pop from guard tower, went down. Captain strode up to bleeding turian with drawn sword, levelling it against neck.

With a twist, head came free, blood gushing from stump. Captain snorted in approval. Took effort not to watch blue come free. Took effort to see past anger. As retribution, captain took two more turians to replace one lost. Neither resisted this time. Then ordered back to barracks, breakfast cancelled, body left out for the vorcha. They alone would eat that morning.

Salarian metabolism fast. Morning without food debilitating, already stomach complaining. Would have to clean bed without expending too much energy. Nearly all other salarians already resigned to remaining still as possible, many directing slurs against turians and pointless displays.

"Only the vorcha can get away with that kind of shit," said the upper bunker from before. "If they do something, they just figure it's in their depraved natures, no point punishing all of us, even the other vorcha. But if we do something, they clamp down."

"You really think you can get that bed anywhere near sterile?" asked another upper bunker, watching with mild amusement. "You'll catch the same sick, I'm sure of it, and no one will be bringing you water."

"My risk to take." Little time to talk, moving back and forth with bucket. "Will see."

In a way, situation amusing. Mordin Solus, hero of collector base, the face of salarian resistance in Great War – washing infected feces off of prison bunk in Tuchanka. Never taken much pride in titles, but had seen affect on others. Here, just another prisoner. Older, in the eyes of other salarians, likely to die. Small and weak, in eyes of batarians, easy to overwhelm. Another obstacle to overcome, in eyes of turians, to be ignored unless there is incident.

 _Food_ , think the vorcha. And the guards only thought of a prisoner as they prepared to consign them to grave with bullet or captain's decree. Until then, invisible.

Once bed washed to best of ability, rest of day went by with deplorable slowness. Stomach complained, mind dilated, and body slowed. Could only observe others, figure out wants and needs, thoughts and fears. Difficult to sift through languages, to ignore pangs of alternating hunger and nausea. Had to anyway.

All came from Terminus or somewhere close to it. Explained slight majority of batarians. Some likely even shared Terminus tradespeak, but racial segregation rigidly enforced within barracks. Others to be viewed with mistrust. Hatred in case of vorcha, who clung to walls and growled on approach.

Salarians most divided, as per norm. No caste or way of Karza to decide order, no rigid lifestyle of turians. Only family names to encourage division, the only draw to unity being shared biology and boredom at slowness of other races. Little to no hatred directed towards humans, surprisingly. Seemed regarded with some kind of inevitability, as if eventual capture and experimentation at hands of terrans were natural.

"There were protoss on this world," said to upper bunkers, staring up at indented bunk above. "Have they left? Do they know?"

"Who cares?" came the reply. "The turians are holding out for it. Might be why they keep fucking up our breakfast. Idiots."

Resolved to speak to turians later. For now, only remaining mindful of bed, of hunger. Nothing to do but wait.

Dinner came too slowly for liking, and soup disappeared so fast to make one sick. Almost wretched. Kept down just barely, resolved to pace self in future. Others snorted at display, one or two warning against speed eating. Washed down with pills provided, hoped they would help. Night fell, and salarians waited in darkness, watching the others sleep.

At some point in night, vorcha staggered in from cold, screamed loudly. Entire barracks erupted in complaints, likely meaningless due to lack of translator. Vorcha staggered to wall to be greeted by other vorcha, inspecting wound on shoulder. They clicked and spoke in halting tongue, difficult to understand even with knowledge of the language. Without warning, vorcha fell in heap, to consternation of companion. Lifted him up, pulled him to wall, tried to get him to latch on. Began to convulse.

Could not help but feel intrigued, concerned. Plenty of time on Omega, assessing vorcha. Never visited his clinic, but plenty close by. In some ways, zerg infestation finally gave promise to them as species, time to learn and perfect. To grow and change. In most other ways, made them monstrous, gave them foul appetites. Still, intelligent creatures, unworthy of this fate. Also had rudimentary knowledge of biology.

Stood from bunk, approached them. Some salarians whispered warnings, other chuckled as the old fool walked to death. Unhurt vorcha stood at approach, hissing and presenting claws and fangs.

"Here to help, trained doctor," said quietly, in the Heshtok way. Vorcha eyes immediately go wide, then go suspicious. Then pointed.

"Emissary of death!" croaked vorcha. "Remember well! Daggoth no like you!"

No idea what that meant, only held up hands in supplication.

"Can help friend," said, trying to make clear. "Have skill with medicine."

Entire barracks watching now. Hoped would not prove compromising. Vorcha snarled … then backed away, watching every movement. Crouched down to friend. Bite mark on lower left shoulder, familiar teeth markings.

"Wasteland Rock Snake. Tuchanka scavenger." Looked to still standing friend. "Have to watch feet. If threatened, inject venom. Probable infant – appears to have been injected with full dose. Infant cannot control amount."

"Treatment?" growled the vorcha, eyes still suspicious. Smiled back grimly.

"Only reason zerg cells cannot regenerate is sheer dosage. Obviously have no antivenom - will have to amputate, reduce amount of venom in system. Only option available. Limb grow back in three to four months." Odd, to be able to tell a patient that. "Will need saw or blade."

"Have claws!" The vorcha stepped down and held friend by throat, placing other hand against lower shoulder. "Doc-tor Emissary! Step down on wrist!" Complied, prepared for messy sight. Sure enough, claw sawed through. Blood spilled on shoes, on floor, but slowed quickly. Vorcha howled in pain, further complaints from other aliens. Then ceased convulsing, entering forced sleep.

Vorcha looked up, naked confusion.

"Thought you hate us, Emissary." Vorcha cocked head. "Scores dead in Lastest War by your hand, by your words."

"Never killed with medicine, and killed no vorcha in Great War." Well, not strictly true. Stared at vorcha. Checked around. No one else could understand words, as far as could tell. Felt safe to ask question. "Emissary? Did Overmind notice efforts? How do you know me?"

"All zerg know you, Doc-tor Emissary." Vorcha hissed lightly, playfully. "Not Overmind, no. Cerebrate Daggoth. Hate you, always hate you, until dying thought. But you save zerg now." Vorcha cocked head. "Come here to camp by choice. Hsss. Can help. Can help escape."

"Looking for salarian: Maelon Haplorn." Vorcha did not react with understanding. "Came to Tuchanka. Not sure of own free will. Not prisoner."

"Not prisoner mean guard. Or doctor. Not Emissary Doc-tor. Killing doctor." Vorcha bared teeth. "Hate them. Kill them. Break open bones and suck out marrow."

No use, and too many prisoners watching. Told vorcha to keep eye on friend, and that would speak again. Returned to bunk with entire barracks looking on. Sensed that perhaps cover would be blown sooner than later, but felt little fear or regret. Another life saved, and now knew that had struck fear in heart of main Zerg Cerebrate. Lent certain swagger to step.

Lay down in bunk for five minutes before commotion went up. Lifted head to see turian walking into center of salarian bunks, making directly for own bed.

"Captain Tibor Gavorn, Turian Hierarchy," said turian in clear tones. "I know STG when I see it, and I saw what you did to those batarians. I know you can understand me. I want to talk."

Better than snitch to guard. Still possibility, however. Sat on edge of bunk, stared up.

"Mordin Solus," admitted, making turian's eyes widen. "Former STG. Came here looking for someone."

"Nobody _comes_ here, doctor." Gavorn still stared in thought. "But … if you did … can we expect any backup?"

"Union did not offer assistance." Spread arms wide in apology. "No one knows about camps. Did not know about camps until came here. Only knew Maelon Haplorn here, somewhere, doing something about krogan."

"Protoss packed up shop just in time for the UED to get serious about fucking with the galaxy." The Praetor spat on the ground, adding to the filth. "Fucking humans. Hoped you had come here to make sure the place goes up in flames."

"Still an option." Mind raced with possibilities, hope. "Require discretion. How organized are turians here?"

"Most of these boys aren't Hierarchy, but I've whipped them into shape nonetheless. Best as I can, anyway. We look after each other and do what we can to keep the despair at bay." Admirable, turians always admirable in adversity. "I talk to the other barracks. We watch each other's backs, unlike the salarians. Unlike the batarians."

Looked around. Most of barracks still staring. Seemed inevitable someone would tell guard in hope of reward. Had to take chance.

"Batarians of Terminus!" Stood up from bunk, approached batarian quarters. Spoke loud and clear, in language of holy Karza. "I am Mordin Solus, former STG. Require your cooperation."

"I picked a fight with STG," moaned one of the batarians from night previous, hand still clamped over one eye. "That explains everything."

"You idiot. He was at the collector base."

"Does the UED know this? Fucking idiots. They killed themselves by letting him in."

"Shut up! Listen."

"This camp is unknown to galaxy, known only to krogan and UED," said loudly, pleased at reaction. "Need discretion. If snitched to guards, likely to be shot. Chance of escape drops for all. Looking for Maelon Heplorn, another salarian. Failing that, looking to burn place to ground. Feed UED captain own entrails."

"Knew salarians weren't all pussies," said one, staring up in awe with both sets of eyes. "This one speaks our language."

"Maintain discretion. Also, trained doctor. Model scientist salarian." Smiled, could not help it. "Treated turian, asari, and batarian. Vorcha as well, as can be seen. Limited supplies, much expertise. Spread quiet word. Today is first day towards escape."

Did not have real plan, but could not tell them that. Could only stoke fire of hope, hear their booming voices and approval. Looked so thin and gaunt, but strength returned to limbs. Not sure how long would last. Just left turians, but Tibor Gavorn already nodding in approval upon return.

"I'm guessing your own people won't require too much persuasion." He saluted. "Mordin. I will relay your presence to the others. If any word gets out, the people responsible die painfully, even by this place's grim standards."

Just left salarians. Most had already guessed.

"STG?" asked upper bunker bluntly.

"Yes. Mordin Solus. Former STG."

"So you've probably already rigged this camp with explosives and poisoned all the guards' food."

"STG not that good." Clucked tongue. " _I_ am not that good. Still, can improvise. Not as defenseless as guards might think."

"I'll spread the word that we're slightly less fucked than usual, then." Still sounded doubtful. "Don't worry. No one's spilling anything to the humans. Can't wait to see those bastards bleed." Snorted. "Idiots. Don't even bother taking our names. Can't even recognize one of the heroes of the collector base."

Confidence thrilling. Also worrisome. Could do nothing about morning selection, about captain taking potshots from command center. Every day spent here meant people would die without possibility of resistance. Would take planning. Timing. Luck.

Hope helped dispel gnawing hunger. Plotting whiled away mindless hours. When taken outside to break apart Koprulu minerals with flimsy pick, envisioning each blow as directed to UED captain's head eased the effort.

Hard to tell how word spread, how much guards noticed. Reacted with visible surprise as batarians ceded spot in line to salarians. Had to also react with surprise. Always thought of batarians as brutes, now most fervent supporters.

Little to work with. Scraps of metal and cloth made up bulk of trading, many myriad uses. Now people putting them aside for war, as they called it. War tax. Anti-human investment. Taught basics of human biology, weaknesses in joints and throat. Location of vital arteries. Also warned that useless against soldiers in UED Argent armor, unless vorcha. Vorcha also surprise.

Suspected vorcha hive mind in past, strange to see it in action. Vorcha went from nuisance and occasional cannibals to scouts and spies. Were monitoring guard routines before, testing weakness in walls. Forbidden from burrowing in soil, missile turrets inevitably detect, but still handful of blind spots. Information provided in halting, scratchy voices, but provided nonetheless.

Not to say all was well within camp. Each morning selection changed from tedious but bearable to enraging. Each prisoner taken personally failed by Mordin Solus, STG hero who would set them free. But too late. Too late. Hard to bear.

And of course, still disagreements over food. Over matters such as illnesses causing beds to be ruined, interspecies tensions due to lack of translators. Only one who could talk to each race, make sure intentions known. Only Tibor Gavorn made progress in learning other speech, knowing some batarian already.

"What if you are taken, Mordin?" asked one day at nightly meeting with vorcha from second night, Grok, and lead batarian who had attacked for shoes, Darsha. "It's only a matter of time. Mathematical certainty, really, so long as they take people everyday. What then? Shivs and vorcha claws aren't going to do much against those guard towers."

"Wait for signal. If nothing, then wait for Kirrahe." Nodded to self. "Knows where I am. Will come eventually. If not killed, then you will know signal. You will have a distraction."

Made promises, but harder to say with certainty with each day spent in camp. The limbs weakened without adequate sustenance. The newer prisoners, fresh from Terminus, doubted Mordin's words, feeling if escape were possible, should have been done already. And of course, there was the captain.

"I know you cannot understand me," captain said one morning, striding back and forth with sword drawn. "I wish you could. I wish you could understand me when I say that, if I had my way, I would line each and every one of you up, make you kneel, and hack with my blade until it breaks on one of your necks. Scum."

Personally doubted actual racist nature of captain. Fairly certain would do exact same if presented opportunity to do so to other humans. Still, difficult to hear. Difficult to stand in same place as captain without moving. Stopped before turian from fifth barracks. Knew what was about to happen.

"Fortunately, violence is the universal language." Stepped back, sliced down across turian chest and neck. Laughed as sprayed with blue, as turian knelt clutching throat with one hand, running hand along chest with other. Gurgled, fell. Knew procedure that would save life, only needed to be given permission to move, to remove strip of cloth from sleeve. Knew better to. One other turian did not, and stepped out of line.

A pop rang from the guard tower. Perfect shot, directly through back of head. Turian fell dead next to wounded brother. Felt own fingers twitch, stared at jugular vein on captain's neck. Kai Leng, they called him, heard other guards talking. Did not matter. Wished had not heard it. Name did not deserve to be remembered.

"We can't keep going like this," said Tibor at the next meeting, and was forced to agree. "We have to fight back. Soon, or people will break. They hurt us with impunity, but you have told us that we are not defenseless."

"Not defenseless," confirmed, nodding. "Not strong enough either." Glanced to Grok. "Vorcha can relay information mentally. What is inside science facility? Anything can use?"

"Hurt," growled Grok. "No one escapes once inside! Krogan doctor, big and strong! Lots of chemicals. Injects some. Injects little machines. Make you explode inside."

Not conclusive, but useful. At least one krogan on base, perhaps actual krogan scientist. Evil undoubtedly, a little understandably. Still confused at purpose of camp, at whereabouts of Maelon. Started to matter less and less. Each day gathering information meant another defeat in the morning. Another name and face lost to history at UED behest.

Still, slight chance there. Thought knew who krogan might be. STG had four-hundred and twelve page long dossier on Ganar Okeer. Work conducted here very consistent with previous methods, previous disregard for morality.

Needed to get inside. Would know my name. Would know my face. Would know my work. Would know indispensability. Might be able to get private audience. Discuss future of krogan … and camp.

Needed to be selected.

"If that's what you think it will take." Tibor doubtful, Tibor afraid. "What if he just kills you? What if it is another krogan scientist?"

"There are no other krogan scientists." Certain. Nearly certain. "Will know my work. Wait for my signal."

"If it doesn't come, I will hunt you down in the spirit hereafter, salarian." Tibor gritted his teeth. "Make eye contact with the captain. React with no fear. He can't resist. He loves to see us break, to see us try to resist."

Good advice, and salarians were taken every day, more consistently than others. Turians taken least often, but sometimes killed for no reason by captain. Vorcha very rarely taken, but Grok spoke of lingering deaths for ones who were. Looking for zerg weaknesses. On one occasion, brought crystal device that killed vorcha instantly upon activation. Perplexing. Worrying. And not remotely related to Genophage. Strange.

Six months of life left. Perhaps two with good health now, assuming survival.

Well spent. Well spent without a doubt.

Next morning, belly ached with hunger. Slept little, even by salarian standards. Tibor Gavorn and Darsha exhausted, staring on with dead eyes. Even vorcha nervous, chittering. Uncertain how rest of camp would react. No time to tell them of plan. Would have to restore order in barracks afterwards. Would be worse if today were scheduled for manual labor.

Sat up straight, arms folded back, reminiscent of a turian. Captain picked up on it immediately, walking past three times, directing gaze at this straight-backed elderly salarian with suspicion.

"Do you have a death wish?" Almost responded, had to remember to pretend ignorance. Stared captain right in the eye. He bared his teeth. "This one. Give him a translator."

Stepped forward and extended arm. Rest of camp collectively drawing breath behind, much shuffling of feet. But no uproar. No riot. They would wait for the signal.

Translator went in. Felt strangely liberating knowing would not have to pretend any longer. Felt guilt, however – captain took six other salarians, and suspected own defiance responsible. Would save them if possible.

The guards pointed rifles at backs of selected prisoners – seven salarians and three batarians. Marched us down road, grunting at every slip and stumble. The smell faded as science facility grew closer. Smell of feces and death replaced by coldness and sterility.

"You're going first, captain's orders." The UED soldier shook her head. "Don't know what you were doing, trying to be brave like that. For what it's worth, I salute you."

A moment of empathy from the most unlikely of sources. She wore full white armor – a soldier born of Earth, not of Koprulu Sector. And yet, only thing could feel was resolve. Entire camp had to go. Everyone in it would burn. A moment of kindness did not grant redemption.

Stepped inside. Stripped rotting clothes, applied hot water and soap in a decontamination shower. Drew blood and took a brief test. Could not help but feel relief at announcement of no illnesses. Very lucky, considering previous occupants of bed that was slept in for last month. Today, one way or another, Rale and Torsh would be avenged.

Taken up flight of stairs dressed in plain white sheet, feeling as if glowing from lack of dirt. Humans in white coats passed by, dressed in biohazard gear. Paid no mind to salarian presence. No sign of krogan. Taken before desk, where human looked up.

"This one looks a little old for clutch fertilization experiments," she said, waving guards off. "Take him to Okeer. One more for the nanites to play with."

Did not like sound of that. But confirmed – Okeer presence in facility. Much to answer for. Still, possibility of escape. Also possibility of summary execution. Regardless, progress had been made.

Taken up another flight of stairs, soldier boots ringing against shining steel. Taken before office, door enlarged compared to others, name of infamous krogan emblazoned on red in front. Opened door. Larger than had realized. Leered down at guards with obvious contempt, paying no mind to salarian between them.

"Another salarian? Hmph." Okeer's eyes rolled to own face. Paused there. Paused there. Nose wrinkled. He knew. "He'll do. Leave us."

"Will you need a cleanup crew?" Again, worrying. Okeer glanced at own face.

"Very likely. A large one. But I will give you the word when. Until then, be gone."

Grabbed by front of new shirt and pulled through. Door closed with snap. Left in presence of enormous krogan doctor, one who had survived eight hundred years of a STG order to kill on sight.

"Idiots. You are very fortunate that humans have trouble telling alien faces apart, Doctor." Okeer snorted. "Even more so that I have a talent for remembering those of salarians'. So let me guess – you came here for Maelon."

"So he is here." Took step back. Krogan loomed by door, blocking exit, stared down with mix of curiosity and hatred. "Yes. Was informed of presence here. Assumed captive." Took in sharp breath. "Was he … forced to work here?"

"Forced?" Okeer shook head, smile playing at thick lips. "No, doctor. He volunteered. Leapt at the opportunity. His work – your work – all the STG work on the Genophage … it gnawed at him. He shook Admiral Stukov's hand and got to work without a fuss."

Impossible. Unbelievable. Stared up at krogan, feeling rage boiling at lie. Did not know Maelon. Tormenting him. Likely planned to eat him. Would not give satisfaction of fear. Would not die without inflicting grievous injury. Glanced around, saw sharp implements. Okeer noticed movement of eyes.

"No need for that, doctor. Believe it or not, I am quite happy to see you." Okeer smiled wicked smile. "Maelon might have his head shoved up his own cloaca about the work here, but I am quite ready to leave. As is…" Okeer paused, cocking head. "…are you with the STG?"

"No." No point denying it. "Did not come here with STG."

"I know for a fact they are aware of this camp. They have been aiding Maelon's research." Another lie, had to be. Still, way Okeer said it … problematic. "So. We are on our own."

"Not entirely. Prison is ready for signal."

"You've rallied the camp have you?" Okeer snorted. "The only ones who could do any damage would be the vorcha, and there are not nearly enough of them. Still … it might be the distraction we need."

"Not distraction," insisted, "victory."

"Hmph." Okeer parted from door. "We have time. You have questions. Ask. Believe what you will, but I swear I will not lie to you."

Paused. Believed him. That made things complicated. "Work here. What was the work here?"

"The UED is taking pains to learn how to simultaneously neuter as many different alien species as possible," said Okeer. "So far they've figured out krogan, protoss, and quarians. Maybe geth, research there is inconclusive. Initial work was conducted to cure the Genophage, which has been a partial success. We applied nanites as a brute force solution, but it has compromised the immune systems of those cured." Okeer inclined head. "Some of your doing. Your work has so far been the greatest barrier to our success here."

"Naturally." Head swam, struggling to believe … but had been in camp. Seen horrors.

"The nanites also served as a leash." Okeer glanced at door, as if worried about eavesdroppers. "It's tied to their AI, EDI. At a word, the UED can send the nanites tunneling through the flesh of any krogan who possesses them." Okeer bowed his head, eyes shut.

"They murdered my son."

Okeer had no sons. Yet grief undeniable. Perhaps clone? Seemed unwise to talk. Okeer opened eyes.

"Salarians uplifted us once to fight a war. The UED would do the same to allow them to hold the Koprulu Sector for them as they head home. Among other things." Okeer snorted. "But that is outside my knowing. And that was merely the initial focal point of our research. Now all they want to do is look into biological weaponry, of means to mass neutralize salarian and turian populations."

"Salarians experts at biological warfare." Undeniable. All knew this. "If there were means of neutralizing Hierarchy easily, Union would have done so during cold war."

"The Union does not have the same lack of constraints the UED does, doctor." Okeer grinned down, a savage grin. "They also possess knowledge in both nanotechnology and psionics that you do not. Do not mistake me – they are arrogant fools meddling with alien affairs far beyond their ken. Their defeat is inevitable. But the death throes of their little empire will bring ruination if their work here is allowed to continue. We will beg for the Reapers to save us if Admiral Stukov is not stopped."

"Stukov." All his doing. This camp. This work. "What does he want?"

"He is a man broken into an ugly shape by the demands of his society." Okeer rolled his head. "He is brilliant, devious, and pathetic. He has learned how to apply the levers that make aliens bend to his will, if only for a time." Okeer clucked his tongue. "He desires nothing less than a human empire stretching the breadth of the Koprulu Sector, and eventually beyond. This means securing both active relays. He has Relay 118. He needs the Umoja relay."

"Means fighting quarians, asari, Umojans." Stroked chin, mind racing. Too much data! "Taking measures to do so."

"It also means breaking the protoss across his knee." Okeer shut eyes once more. "He has the means. All he needs is an appropriate conduit for his weapon, the Culexus. An anti-psionic device, tuned only to harm those of considerable psionic potency." Okeer bared his teeth. "And now, thanks to Nova, he has the exact frequency he needs to insure only protoss will be affected, and affected greatly."

"And you think STG allowed this?" snapped, could not believe it. "That they would goad this on?"

"The protoss have been the biggest pain in the STG's collective asses since their appearance in the galaxy," Okeer, all rolling eyes and mirthless chuckles. "The UED have proven themselves destructive idiots. Your kind has always been about taking necessary measures to neutralize threats or better yet, letting them destroy each other. Right now, the UED and protoss are the two biggest problems in the galaxy with the Reapers out of the picture. And the protoss, without realizing it, are about to be struck a blow that not even I am sure they will be able to withstand."

"No." Shook head, voice shaking despite self. "Refuse to believe this."

"You already believe this, you're just making noises." Came closer, leered directly in face. "Have you grown senile, doctor? This is what your people do. Make assessments. Prepare countermeasures. Hold the line. Are you prepared to argue otherwise?"

"Terminus," spoke with shaking voice, "why do they help him?"

"They sent a task force to help Aria take back Omega." Okeer shook head in disgust. "Worse, I think they plan to agitate the elements in those systems to make trouble for the asari. No idea why Aria's going along with it. If you ask me, killing Elias Kelham was a mistake. She has been acting with uncharacteristic idiocy."

Hardly uncharacteristic. Still, did not interact with self-styled queen too much. Patched up her men, now and again. Heard tales of gratuitous brutality. Hard to believe she would savage own people … but then camp, and UED as well, hard to believe even when evidence stared right in face.

"What must be done?" asked, trying to control self. "Must save this camp."

"The command center has been given advanced thrusters. A lot of data can leave here in a hurry. A lot of incriminating data. Research data." Okeer reached for wrist, pulled something unseen free, proffered it. "Take my omnitool, little thing. You will need it."

Hard to see, but took it, applied to wrist. Stuck there, lit up. Powerful once again. Incineration blasts, tech armor, neural blast…

"Want to take command center out of system." Understandable, if difficult. "To what end?"

"Get somewhere safe. Find someone who can crack the central computer, break through EDI's ice." Okeer walked to wall, pulled free heavy hammer. Swung it slightly, grunting. "The Void knows what's on those databanks. No one has yet to gain full access to a UED command center. Imagine what we could find in there?" Slapped head of hammer against palm, then shouldered it. "Secret plans? Fleet numbers? Exotic technology?" Paused. "The location of their wretched homeworld? Would that we could feed _that_ to the protoss. Of course, we will need a safe destination. A close destination."

"Eden Prime," said with certainty, knowing someone who would do their utmost to make things right. "Jim Raynor helped infiltration process, dropped off on Prospero. ITSA newly independent from protoss again. Will defend against interception. Will not stand for injustice."

"Jim Raynor." Okeer nodded. "Eden Prime … close enough. Only two relay jumps, I believe. Certainly safer than Sur'Kesh, and the command center will not be able to limp farther than that. And I imagine you will want to bring your prison friends with you?"

"Must save everyone possible." Fervent, most important aspect of plan. "Means killing Captain Leng. Killing all soldiers, all scientists."

"Bold." Okeer smiled the most terrible smile. "I like your style, doctor."

"But…" Struggled to find words. "Maelon-"

"Not here, and you would not want to find him." Blunt, final. "He believes he is doing good work by ensuring krogan loyalty. He believes it is for their own good, to be leashed by the UED. He does not leave his office often. He does not see these people for what they are."

Truth. Turned to tray of instruments, selected sharp scalpel, designed to make precision cuts.

Never harm with medicine. Never kill with medicine. Medical tools fine, however. Still, needed gun.

"I swore to only bear my shaman's hammer again if I were truly certain it was the only thing that would keep my race from extinction," murmured Okeer, rubbing the head of the weapon. "If one day they needed more than science and reason to carry them through. I have little interest in faith, only results. But today I place my faith on you, doctor. Once we are on Eden Prime … we are going to compare notes about how to undo this little nanite concoction the UED has created."

"Agreed." Ready now. Scalpel good at close quarters, would work once armor melted by incineration tech. "Plan?"

"Follow my lead." Okeer walked to door. "Spare no one. We will have about half an hour. Hope your people are ready."

Hoped women's camp were ready, that corralling them would be easy. What they went through … hard to think about. And had no knowledge. No warning.

Scalpel in one hand. Omnitool in the other. Stomach rumbled, mind reeled. Emotions hard to manage at that moment. Maelon a traitor. STG … ready to let galaxy burn in order to capitalize. UED, insane. But time for weakness was over.

Walked behind Okeer. At head of stairs, guard stopped, staring at Okeer.

"Nice hammer." Guard cocked armored head. "You should show that to the captain. Loves the primitive crap."

"Primitive means heavy." Okeer brought the hammer low across guard's face. Loud metal clang, spray of red like inside of melon. Guard fell down steps with loud clatter and Okeer bellowed loud enough to wake dead. "FOR TUCHANKA!"

Over-masculine chest pounding, reminded of Kirrahe. Krogan still charged down steps, leaving companion behind. Woman screamed, cut off with squelch. Heart hardened. Time to put place to fire.

Fired incineration tech at everything vaguely flammable. Or was it inflammable? Forgot which. Did not matter. Everything burned.

Okeer left destruction in wake. One guard firing after him, rounds pinging harmlessly off barriers. Fired incineration tech in side, melting armor like wax. Through heat of bubbling metal, plunged scalpel into neck, left it there. Stepped back as if drunk, falling to knees with gurgle. Removed pistol from holster. Not too large, but limited ammunition. Still, would punch through UED armor.

Klaxons ran through camp. Great cry went up, audible even from inside chaos of science facility. Gavorn and the others, rising up. Wished could see it. Wish could help topple guard towers.

Cryo blast froze one scientist in tracks, mouth frozen in scream. Shattered it with incineration blast. No innocents here. No survivors. Guard screamed profanity at murder of "civilian," only to be frozen. Took time lining up shot. Three rounds to throat, breaking through armor, sundering life.

Orders through loudspeaker, ringing in the camp. No one left in science facility to heed them now. Left entrance behind, staring at camp. Guard towers burning. Guards fired into crowds of rioting prisoners, killing scores. Vorcha emerged from below, skewering on sharp claws, grabbing weapons. Too few, however, too few. Not for long.

Incineration blast at top of intact guard tower. Mounted machine gun exploded, ammunition exposed to intense heat. Blast blew top off of guard tower, sending crashing down. Could not help self. Shouted with excitement. Okeer barreled off towards command center, hammer bloody with hair and brain. Humans scattering, madness of crowds difficult to overcome.

Covered in blood and soot now, clean clothes ruined. Hard to remember own vincibility, own lack of barriers or armor. Powered by hate, hate, _hate._ Steps flew forward. Looking for one foe. The foe they all looked for.

Still stood at top of command center, leaning out of window, screaming insults at filth below. Fired rifle rapidly, doubtlessly killing with each pull of trigger. Knew what to do. Out of reach of pistol, but not omnitool.

Neural blast. Harmless, safe for incredible pain. Kai Leng clutched head in sudden agony. Hoped would lean forward, would tumble out of window.

Might be a God after all.

Fell headfirst, arms splayed, rifle falling with him. Landed hard on concrete foundation surrounding command center, right leg twisting. Howled with pain, clutching wounded extremity. Could name any number of ways to fix it. Could also name any number of ways to make it hurt even worse.

"You!" spat captain at own approach. "Filth! Stukov will kill every last one of you filthy lizards!"

"Unlikely." Stopped, thinking. Applied another neural blast for good measure, screams making him smile. Did not seem right to kill him. Not fitting enough.

Some guards surrendered to prisoners back at main camp. Foolish. Torn apart by bare hands. Felt nothing save satisfaction. Waited there, watching Leng. Walked close, pulled broken sword free of back. Footsteps approached.

"Tibor." The turian at my side, staring down at Leng with naked glee. "Killed many turians with this sword. Should return favor. When finished, grab women and take all to command center. Making getaway on it."

"I'll be as quick as I can, Mordin, you beautiful bastard." Tibor took sword from arms. "Well … maybe not that quick."

Wished could stay, but command center needed clearing. Still, slowed to hear the screaming, the gurgles, the sound of tearing flesh that no doctor should ever delight in. Still … just this once.

Okeer already ruining inside of command center, laying waste with ugly hammer. Left trail of wounded. Easy enough to finish with shards of glass applied to carotid arteries. Some begged for mercy. Had long ago run out. The camp burned, and the humans bled out.

"Many of your prisoners died." Okeer, smeared with blood, one arm hanging uselessly from bullet in shoulder. Would heal eventually. "They fought like demons, though. Better than I expected."

"You were not in camp." Staring at Okeer, bloody shard of glass still in hand. "Were a part of this."

"Not by my own will. Not like your Maelon." Okeer planted hammer on ground, turning to console. "At the first opportunity, the camp burned. But there are others like it across the planet, you know? They turned my homeworld into…" Searched for the word, waved muscled arm. "…this."

"There will be justice." The prisoners, many voices, many screams from the wounded, coming from behind, limping inside. The klaxons still sounded, but no one came to answer.

"They still have a major garrison on the Citadel you know." Okeer, now accessing the thruster controls, preparing for liftoff. "Their Rear Admiral, Anderson. Another hero of the collector base, the one who slew a thresher maw from the inside. He will come for us. I hope this Raynor of yours is prepared for that."

"Has to be. Only option." Held up hand. "Have to tend to wounded. Certain will escape unmolested?"

"The only one with AA in range is Urdnot Wrex, and he sure as hell isn't shooting us down. He knows this is his only chance. That I am his only chance." The command center rumbled. "Don't worry. I won't be taking off until you give the word. Just do it quickly."

Six months of life left, in theory. Maybe a few days of good health.

Had to spend it carefully now. Had to spend it to stop Stukov and UED. To undo work of Maelon and STG. In the company of previous greatest enemy.

"This is the turning point," grunted Okeer, fingering lingering over the ignition button. "We are the first to pull free of Stukov's schemes. Time to let it all unravel."

No regrets. No fears. Had hoped to write one last book, about vorcha account of Daggoth's time in Great War. Give old enemy appropriate respect. Title: _Emissary of Death._ Looked unlikely now. Somehow doubted would survive reprisal. But the choice was made.

"Had to have been me," looking down at bloodied hands before turning back to lobby of command center, to tend to the battered wounded, the lucky few spared from systematic extermination. "Someone else would have gotten it wrong."

* * *

 **Ten chapters remain. I will try to maintain the pace.**


	57. To Bring Justice

**Garrus**

 _Stupidest thing to feel afraid of._ Garrus stared at the blinking vidcom button for him, the one that would link him to his father for the first time in far too long. Sarah and Saren had assured him the utmost privacy while he used the Spectre's Palaven QEC … but every movement still sounded too loud. Even his breath. Even his thoughts.

 _Felt like I had better odds running away from that Reaper._ Even that caused a stab of guilt. His father had no doubt watched his son fall away from that platform from Fenix's camera, and thought his last child to be no more. _There was so much to do after escaping, though. My legs have only just barely fully healed. And there was Sarah's witch hunt besides…_

If the guilt had been enormous the first week after his survival, it had only grown exponentially with each passing day since then. The more he needed to contact his father, the less pleasant it had sounded, and the more guilty he became. In the end, Sarah herself had to break the feedback loop.

"You're making me feel ill when I look at you." Garrus had cocked his head at Sarah's words. "What? You've gotten good at shutting out others, Garrus, but your entire body reacts when you think of your dad. Just call him, already. If he still doesn't think you're the best damn turian alive right now after all you've done, I'll sort him out myself."

"Am I the best damn turian?" The grin came then, taunting, unexpected. Sarah had raised an eyebrow.

"Of course. I'm always right." She had stepped closer, smiling, tossing that strangely hypnotic mass of tissue on her head that only terrans understood or found attractive. "And Adrien Victus is dead."

Almost a mood killer. But not quite. _Ah yes. The terran girlfriend. The psionic terran girlfriend. That will be another fun thing to explain to him. I wonder how Saren explained Nova to his family?_

 _Wait, scratch that, he killed a planet. Makes it all look a bit silly._

"Let it not be said that I am coward." Garrus pressed the button and waited, hands flat at his sides.

Garrus did not know what to expect when his father flashed before in the vidcom chamber. The meeting had been a long time coming for certain – the occasional terse email did not make for meaningful conversation – but it had also always been comfortably in the distance. On Omega after all, there had been little time or inclination. Since then, of course, the galaxy had burst into flames. But if there was to be a peace … what excuses truly remained?

Despite having braced himself for the change in physical appearance, Talus Vakarian's slightly shrunken visage still remained a shock. The eyes looked as sharp and disapproving as always, which Garrus considered oddly reassuring, but age was clearly setting in at the back and legs, in the face. _An old bird, now … but still a well-respected one. Still a well-loved one. The Primarch would not go out of his way for Father's advice if it were any other case._

Garrus could not help but wonder what his father thought back as he stared at his son for the first time in years. The eyes scanned him up and down, lingering first on the weaponry on his belt and back, then at the custom armor, then finally at the scars Majesty had left on his face. Garrus knew better then to speak first. He waited.

"This meeting should have happened months ago, Garrus," Father said, voice blunt. "Do you think it was easy, seeing you wounded on that collector base mission? Or any of it at all, for that matter? I thought this branch of the Vakarian line was ended. And when that protoss tossed you on board…"

"You expected a call right away." Garrus nodded. "I can understand that. But even aside from the extensive physical therapy, it's not like I had much time to myself once I was out of there. I'm a Spectre now. This was the first time I truly possessed enough time and … emotional readiness … to see you. I accept responsibility on the laxness, sir."

"Sir." Father snorted and looked down for a moment. When his eyes returned to Garrus's face, they no longer possessed the hardness from before. "You think of me more as some kind of drill instructor as your father, don't you? That my anger stems from dereliction of duty rather than actual emotional concern."

Garrus did not have an answer to that. It was his turn to look down.

"Urgh. Garrus, that's – no, you should know that's not right." Garrus looked up, but still could not quite meet his father's gaze. _I'm a Spectre, damn it, I should be out shooting people. Can't stand this emotional crap._ "It's just – there's only you and me left. I thought we'd be closer."

"Well, I did blow up a shuttle full of civilians." Father's expression hardened at that. "Then I became an unsuccessful vigilante on Omega. You really loved that part. Then I somehow became even _further_ outside the law by joining the Spectres. I think I can understand why we drifted away. Just a little."

"Are you making fun of me now?" Father ground his teeth.

"No. I'm just saying there's many reasons this took a while. For both of us." _Voice sounds so much more certain than how I feel. Was my heart beating this hard at the collector base? I haven't even got to Sarah yet…_

"I see." Father straightened up, the old military bearing recovered. "So – there's no need for any of us to feel any guilt then, is there? We can move forward with the understanding that this is not easy for either of us."

"But it needed to be done," said Garrus, nodding. "And now it is."

Father nodded as well. Then came the uncomfortable silence.

"It is good to see you again, Garrus. You look well."

"Thank you. It's … I'm happy to see you, too." Garrus heaved a deep breath, the heart slowing, finally able to look his father in the face without fear. "I have been out of touch with the Hierarchy. How fares Palaven?"

"Finally able to deescalate the militarization, thank the Spirits. War with the salarians or protoss now looks vanishingly unlikely, given what your suicide mission proved about our strength when unified." Father smiled, a wonderful sight. "There might actually be a chance at something approaching what we had before the Great War, assuming this business with the UED can be cleared up. Neither the Primarch nor myself are clear on their intentions at this point."

"That's one of the things we're working on. Nova claims that their interests are mainly confined to the Koprulu Sector, for what it's worth."

"The Koprulu Sector is quite entangled with the rest of the galaxy's affairs now, whether they like it or not." Father's smile turned into a frown. "Earth is now a part of this galactic stage, even if its location is unknown and apparently unreachable to anyone save the protoss. They are not above us. They are not outside us. Until the UED recognizes that – until Admiral Stukov recognizes that – then we cannot rest fully easy." Father stopped, then waved a hand airily. "But – politics. At least we averted another Great War. At least you are still alive."

"Yes, being alive is a nice bonus." _Should I bring up Sarah? I feel like I should bring up Sarah._ "I hope you don't object to my work."

"I read up on you and the others did, following up on leads to the _Amerigo_ , to Illium, then to the Broker himself." Father shrugged. "Given the Hierarchy's own actions over Illium that day, I doubt I can fault you with looseness for the law or endangering civilians. As far as I am concerned, you did everything right."

"Did I hear you correctly?" Garrus cocked his head, could not help but grin widely. "I did … _everything_ right?"

"Well, after you departed on an infantile fantasy to bring justice to Aria and her KMC allies." Father scowled. "Do not act like my approval is some kind of urban legend, Garrus. All I ever wanted was for you to follow due process and not take rash action. If becoming a Spectre – an organization not knowing for doing either of these things – is somehow what convinced you to become a better law enforcement officer, then I can take no issue with it. Go forth and do me proud."

"Yes, sir, father sir." Garrus saluted, but meant it genuinely. Father saluted back with a twinkle in his eye.

"Good, we understand each other. Was this as painful as you thought it would be?"

"Well, there's still the whole terran girlfriend thing I have to tell you about…"

"Of course there is." Father rolled his eyes. "A discussion for another time, not too soon from now. Understood?"

"Understood." Garrus stared his father fully in the face, for the first time in memory, unafraid and unashamed. "Count on it. Thank you."

"Talus, out." Father winked out of view, and the door immediately slid open behind Garrus.

"Is you listening in something I will ever be able to control?" asked Garrus, turning to Sarah.

"I wasn't, I wouldn't invade your privacy like that." She folded her arms and bit her lip. "I was just waiting for you to finish. Something's come up. It's not good."

"Right, of course. Lead the way." _Another collector base? Reaper fleet inbound for Palaven? Protoss finally decide to just warp in, kill_ everyone _, and leave?_

"No." They entered the Spectre ready room together. Zeratul, Legion, and Saren stared up at a newscreen together, where an asari newscaster reported on … _oh dear._

"The location of the Dark Templar homeworld, Shakuras, has been leaked to all major news outlets and governments this morning," said the asari, looking rather nervous. _What, you expecting Zeratul to come out of the shadows and skewer you for saying this?_ Judging by Zeratul's posture, stiff and foreboding, perhaps that was not inaccurate. "The leak came from a former well-known Shadow Broker channel, one previously thought defunct given the Broker's recent execution by Council forces."

"My homeworld." Zeratul stared at the screen, voice shaking. "The Broker … he is not dead. They leaked the location of _my_ homeworld."

"He's pretty definitively dead, Zeratul." The protoss looked at Garrus, eyes blazing. "I watched him explode."

"Geth have extensively examined existing Broker data as well as corpse of Reaper." Legion, stepping between the two of them, arms protectively held before the Prelate. "Difficult to decrypt, but clear indications of Broker aboard vessel being a pawn. A protoss pawn."

"You think a protoss did this? One of the Daelaam?" Zeratul took a step forward, looming over both Legion and Garrus. "Geth – you had better not make this accusation without reason. If one of our own has exposed our position, undone one of our strongest defenses-"

"Shakuras relay is open, Prelate." Legion did not shrink, even as Garrus took a step back just for safety's sake. "Dark Templar fought for the Reapers. The Broker knew your words and life, threw them at you. Protoss are not monolithic entity. Even geth are not monolithic entity. Many believed we should serve the Reapers. Not unthinkable protoss would do likewise."

"The Shakuras relay is open? We are already that exposed?" Zeratul paused, then abruptly pounded a fist against a nearby pillar, leaving a heavy dent. "Have we been so blind? I had my doubts, but I could not … I could not tarnish Tassadar's legacy, his wishes." He gazed up at Sarah. Saren and Garrus could only exchange glances.

"Aldaris." Sarah said the word with finality and certainty. "I can feel it in his mind, the guilt. He is hiding something. He fought against the protoss coming to the Citadel, unifying everyone. He refuses to share an office with Raszagal. He fought against the Citadel mission. Majesty refused to face him when he finally left the ship. And now he's exposed your homeworld."

"Aldaris," hissed Zeratul, but Legion quickly spoke up.

"Inconclusive. Only 47% of existing programs within unit believe the Judicator to be responsible. And why would Nerazim follow bidding of Aldaris?"

"Why would Nerazim assist the Reapers at all, Legion?" Zeratul shook his head in disgust. "Their foulness pollutes all. I felt it in Selendis when she returned from the vessel known as Tyrant. If the Judicator and some of my brothers came to the same conclusion regarding serving those beings, then they would side together without hesitation. And the Shakuras relay is far more discreet than the Aiur relay, which is guarded heavily."

"He has a high position and has long had his ear to Citadel affairs," said Saren, still sounding doubtful. "Who else could have done this? Raszagal, can we rule her out?"

"Raszagal would not expose the world she had helped settle almost a millennia ago, she would not betray us like this. She has supported us every step of the way when it mattered." Zeratul held a hand to his face. "Yes. Aldaris. His mind is dark and full of shadows, unbecoming of one so obsessed with the light. He denies Tassadar's teachings as well."

"Do we have enough to make an arrest then?" Saren snorted at Garrus's words, but Garrus held up his hands in supplication. "Unless you _want_ to spark another protoss civil war by outright attacking him. I'm certainly not going to be a part of that. There should be a process. Is there any way to read his mind, Zeratul? If he's innocent, he shouldn't resist."

"A mind meld." Zeratul nodded. "I offered as much to Tassadar on Char, may he rest in glory, to make clear I meant him no harm. Such melds are regularly performed by the Khalai, as part of their vaunted Khala. If he truly has nothing to hide…"

"You seem a little upset, Zeratul." Zeratul wheeled on Garrus again. This time he held his ground. "I just got off the line with my dad, who complimented me on following a chain of evidence and not endangering innocents. If we do this properly, try to arrest the Judicator who, I might as well point out, is the High Templar's Council representative, can I get your guarantee that you'll do this properly?"

"If he's innocent he won't resist, Garrus." Sarah, putting a warm hand on Garrus's shoulder. "If he doesn't resist, then there will not be a problem." She pointed at Saren. "I don't want you coming, though. I know your thoughts on the High Templar well enough. I get the feeling you'll enjoy it too much."

"Still?" Garrus asked Saren incredulously. "Didn't you see Fenix hurling me aboard that shuttle? Did you see him charge down a Reaper to let everyone else get away? My sister was on the same ship you were, Saren."

"And I will never forget Solana's face, nor the horrible death she suffered." _What? You think I won't?_ Sarah tightened her grip on Garrus's shoulder as he stepped forward, fists balling. "Yes, Vakarian, get angry, as you should. The protoss have never apologized for the deaths that day, and all too often people overlook it in favor of Victus and Tassadar."

"You tread dangerous ground, Arterius," growled Zeratul. "Leave. We will handle this."

"Of course you will." Saren left the ready room without a backwards glance, and Zeratul stared after him. "There is nothing left for him but that hate, Kerrigan, now that his crimes are exposed. You would do well to see him back on Palaven."

"Sometimes you need a killer, and he puts his hate aside when he needs to." Sarah removed her hand from Garrus, pausing only briefly to trail a finger against the back of his neck, a pleasing sensation. "If he was incapable, Selendis would be dead. He fought against the Broker just as hard as the rest of us."

"He saved Selendis before he was exposed, and the Broker threatened his life directly," snapped Zeratul, still glowering after Saren. "While he is at least charitable enough to only blame the High Templar rather than all protoss, I worry about what he might do. He is rather resourceful."

"So are you. So are we." Sarah motioned for the door, and Garrus prepared to follow through. Legion did not move.

"You're not going to help?" Sarah asked, looking the machine in its single eye. "If he's innocent, there won't be a problem. If he isn't, we could use your help."

"We must gather further consensus and data." Legion's eye focused on Zeratul, Garrus, and Sarah in turn. "We believe you do not act with sufficient deliberation. Other protoss leaders must be considered. There are many of the Ara tribe who could also be responsible."

"And Aldaris represents that tribe, which means he'll know who they might be." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Legion … don't you trust me?"

"We choose not to reply."

"Fine then." Sarah stormed out angrily, followed by an equally angry Zeratul. Only Garrus lingered.

"I'm not going to fault you for needing more evidence, but I have to go with the two mind readers." Legion only watched Garrus, silent. "Is there … is there anyone else you can go to with this information? Is there any way to decrypt the data more thoroughly, speed it up?"

"Creators are more familiar with these existing systems." Legion looked down. "There … there is one creator we trust."

"Tali." Garrus sighed. "Does she trust you back?"

"Unknown."

"It's not unknown." Garrus sighed, glancing back out the door. "You're just afraid of having your heart broken by the creators again."

"This unit lacks a-"

"Go to her and tell her what you've found," ordered Garrus. "Stop playing stupid. Artificial intelligences don't get to play stupid. It's in the name."

Sarah called out for Garrus, who took his first steps out the door, still watching Legion.

"We have reached consensus," said Legion, just as Garrus made it to the threshold. But he did not elaborate further, and Garrus was out of time.

"The Judicator will no doubt be in his office, trying to explain this leak," said Zeratul, his strides difficult to keep pace with. "Do not take aggressive action unless he resists. This is too critical to let him keep his secrets, whatever they might be."

"If he's the Broker, I'll kill him." Sarah, sounding venomous. Garrus shot her a warning look. "What? After the shit we went through killing the fake one? After losing Samara and Fenix? After setting Dark Templar on us and the Council? He's earned his death."

"Separate the rage and indignation," said Garrus, despite feeling it was futile. "I let it get in the way of my decision making and a shuttle full of civilians blew up. You heard the statistics. I need you in control."

"I'm always in control, Garrus." _Right. Just like on the_ Amerigo.

"Don't you trust me?" That question again, this time full of hurt. The C-Sec offices turned to the elevator to the Presidium. Zeratul vanished into shadow.

"I trust you with my life, Sarah, but not necessarily the lives of others. Not when you're angry." She reddened at this. "Try to understand that. Keep calm. Don't lose control."

"Maybe you don't understand how difficult that is, when every gesture moves everything in the room, when every thought can cause someone physical pain. When you _know_ who is guilty." Sarah closed her eyes, scowling. "But I'll try. For you."

Garrus did not feel as comfortable with Sarah in the elevator as he normally did, and kept a respectful distance. The temperature also just felt a tad higher than normal. _Try to focus on your dad. Happy thoughts. Maybe the Judicator will submit to the meld, prove himself innocent, and provide us with a vital clue that will point us towards a more harmless true broker. Like a volus. How a volus knew where Shakuras was will have to remain a mystery for now, though._

The people of the Presidium had clustered into groups, each staring at the blaring news footage that revealed the location of one of the two protoss homeworlds, now accompanied by live camera shots from one or two UED battlecruisers who had doubtless come to confirm the information. _So it's not fake. And the UED really is too stupid to live._ Sure enough, the footage abruptly ended in a hail of sparks as the Nerazim made their displeasure known. _Hope they didn't kill the crew._

"Well this is a scary crew." The asari receptionist, looking up and down at Garrus, Sarah, and the freshly reappeared Zeratul. "Is this about that news? Which councilor do you want?"

"The Judicator." Zeratul glared down at the receptionist. "Now."

The asari's smile faltered, and she pointed up the short flight of stairs. Sarah took point, striding up the steps and to the door without hesitation. As soon as Zeratul and Garrus flanked her on either side, she opened the door.

"And so you come, blazing with anger … flanked by Garrus Vakarian and Sarah Kerrigan." Aldaris sat his large desk with his eyes shut, fingers twitching over a blow crystal which floated freely above the table. To Garrus's dismay, Executor Selendis watched them from the corner, bearing straight, armor gleaming and resplendent. "I assure you all I am taking the necessary steps to alleviate the Matriarch's security concerns. The Hierarch and I are agreed on a reprimand for the UED, a reminder that the Firstborn treasure their secrecy above all else with the Reapers gone."

The door slid shut behind them. Aldaris opened his eyes.

"There is a problem, is there not? There always is."

"I require you to open your mind to me, Judicator." Zeratul stepped forward, head bowed respectfully. "This leak … only the Shadow Broker, whom we thought dead, had access to the channel used. Only the Shadow Broker would have access to such information, if anyone outside the protoss would. But we do not believe him outside the protoss."

"An accusation then?" Aldaris's words were flat, but not unbelieving. "How utterly typical. I have gone to such lengths to placate my tribe, who have urged me from the beginning to never cooperate; my Hierarch, who acts rashly and demands far too much; and the lesser races, whose politics confound me. And yet two of their number, as well as one of the few Nerazim I thought I could trust, now accuse me of a betrayal whose sheer scale I can barely comprehend."

He stood tall, glowering, Selendis stepping forward behind him, a worried look in her eye. Without warning, he bellowed and slammed a fist into his table, forcing the three of them back and leaving a worryingly large dent.

"Curse this galaxy, and the idiots who dwell within it, for again and again misconstruing the words and actions of a good and honest politician for evidence of conspiracy! Were you expecting submission, Prelate? I am long past the point of patience! Choose your next words with care!"

"If you are innocent, Aldaris, prove it!" Sarah, teeth bared, taking a step forward, a hand on the butt of her rifle across her back. "What are you hiding? Zeratul can sense it, I can sense it."

"Do not speak to the Judicator that way, Kerrigan." Executor Selendis, standing between the two, armored wrists crossed before her chest. "There are secrets the Judicator shares with no one, should have to share with no one. I know him. He was not responsible for this leak."

"It had to be a protoss," snarled Zeratul, joining Sarah's side. "And the Broker … he repeated a speech to me, one I uttered only to you at the war's end. I have journeyed through the darkness between the most distant of stars…"

"An empty a claim now as it was then." Aldaris brandished a hand. "I have not sacrificed so much – _so much_ – to be accused of such vile heresy. The Reapers are to be opposed wherever they are found, and I will not rest easy until we are for certain beyond their putrescent influence."

"Then why did you disagree with the collector base mission?" Sarah shook her head disbelievingly, taking another step forward. Selendis loosened her arms slightly, eyes full of warning. "Why did Majesty refuse to match you?"

"To answer the former: because I believed it folly, although I did my utmost to help it along when it was clear what the Hierarch wanted." Aldaris paused. "The latter … I have not the faintest idea. She laid waste to the crew of the _Normandy_ yet greeted me with as much resistance as a gentle breeze."

"Because she wanted you to escape," breathed Sarah, and Garrus knew they were past the point of return.

The Executor activated her psi blade and charged without warning. Zeratul vanished before meeting her in a clash of energy on energy, their crossed swords sparking and blazing like magnificent stars. Sarah slipped around the two, rifle unslung, only to be blasted back with a wave of force.

"C-Sec!" bellowed Aldaris, glowing hand lifted. "I am under assault by a Nerazim and two Spectres! I would not see them harmed unless necessary!"

 _This doesn't feel right._ Yet Sarah was already righting herself. She fired three times at Aldaris, whose shields only flickered. He thrust his hands to either side of him, and the shields lit up brightly, the room filling with the smell of ozone.

Garrus produced his own pistol from his holster, the one so thoughtfully returned by Nova with a fresh set of red lip marks on the butt of the gun. He held it upward, genuinely uncertain who to shoot, if to shoot at all.

Selendis and Zeratul fought in a whirlwind of violent motion, their arms too fast to follow. Each time Zeratul's blade met with one of the Executor's it boomed like a clap of thunder, the force and power of the weapons shaking the room itself. And Sarah … Sarah sprinted forward, another blast of force deflected all around her, rifle emptying into Aldaris's shields. Then the gun clicked. She threw it aside and produced her own psi blade before vanishing.

"Executor! I cannot see the ghost!"

Selendis backhanded Zeratul with unexpected speed and force, sending the Prelate skidding. She whirled around the room before pointing a glowing blue psi blade to the Judicator's right.

"The air stirs!" Garrus then gasped as the Executor herself vanished, prompting a groan from Zeratul.

"I hoped a day would never come where I would find myself regretting educating you in our ways, Executor. That day has come to pass."

"Garrus, seal the door!" Sarah's voice, coming from nowhere. "C-Sec! Whose side are you on?"

Garrus turned to the door and activated his omnitool with his free hand, shutting the door and burning the controls. _No need to put C-Sec officers into danger, if nothing else._ Selendis and Zeratul locked blades again, both snarling at each other. Aldaris flailed wildly, shields sparking at hidden blows, trying to determine the location of his other assailant.

 _What would Father do?_ The question came unbidden, thrust into his adrenaline stricken mind without warning. Two protoss reenacted their brutal civil war before him, and a protoss known for his xenophobia was likely about to be assassinated by his girlfriend. Garrus's heart pounded. He looked to his pistol, then to everyone in the room. _Is anyone in the wrong here. Aldaris, maybe, but even Legion was not sure. But … I do trust Sarah. And Zeratul._

Garrus's gut told him to level his pistol at the Judicator and fire until his shields broke and he either submitted or bled for his likely crimes. But his gut was a hard piece of work, one tuned by the rough Citadel and Omega streets only to optimize his own survival and little else. His gut had told him to fire on that shuttle.

Garrus breathed heavily. Selendis was beating down Zeratul in melee, her blows raining down on the Dark Templar with dizzying speed and ferocity, far too much for the slim warrior to manage. But she did not want to kill, nor did Zeratul. Each opening for a killing stroke went ignored, and she only stepped back towards the Judicator, trying to get to Sarah. But Zeratul did not let up.

The Judicator met Garrus's gaze for a moment. _He's afraid to die._ That seemed odd to Garrus. Turians in service of the Broker had strapped pieces of anti-psionic technology to their skulls and assaulted the Citadel Tower. They weren't afraid to die, that much was obvious. Moreover, he did not want to kill Sarah, his blasts of psionic energy only consisting of raw force, meant to knock over rather than fry. It was only as he drew his own psi blade and slashed with decidedly less expertise than the other three combatants in the room that Garrus reassessed. _No. He would be okay with killing Sarah. He does not want to kill myself or the Executor. That … this isn't right. There is reasonable doubt here._

"They've sealed the door, blow it!" The C-Sec Executor, Pallin. Garrus looked back at the door to see it smoking. _Only a few seconds more._

"I can't," gasped Aldaris, falling to his knee. Sarah reappeared and ducked nimbly aside as he waved his psi blade across. "Executor … someone…"

"Sarah!" Garrus sprinted forward, pistol thrown aside. He jumped forward as she prepared a killing thrust, Aldaris's blade shoved aside by a rough boot. "Don't-"

Horrid heat ran through Garrus's chest. He looked down to see the green of Sarah's blade up to the wrist hilt in his sternum, which smoked. He looked up to see Sarah Kerrigan's eyes, wide and full of fear that he had never seen before.

"No," she said. "No, no, no-"

"And we were doing so well." Garrus coughed. He knew when the pain would set in. And he knew a death wound when he saw it. It would be another thing entirely to feel it. Sarah stared into his eyes, unwilling to pull the blade free. _It's inevitable. Don't prolong it._

"Vakarian!" The two other protoss now only stared at the display, weapons forgotten. The door burst from behind them. C-Sec officers ran into the scene, screaming at everyone to get down.

"I'm sorry." Sarah released the blade, retracting it into the hilt and throwing her hands in the air, submitting even though escape would be so simple. And Garrus, Garrus tried to remain standing but his legs were no longer under his control.

He fell to the ground without any arms to cushion the landing, and it hurt more than he felt it reasonably should. Aldaris stood over him with wide eyes, glowing eyes, the only thing he could see as his body pulsed and the dark crowded in at the edges.

 _Died for a protoss._ The pain reared then, and Garrus tried to scream, but his body was not his anymore. _What will my sister say, when I see her? Tell me I will see her._

Garrus convulsed once. And that was all.


	58. The Point of No Return

**Alexei**

 _Can you not feel it now? A quickening. An end to all of this._

Alexei's heart shuddered with anticipation, his mind and body scarcely able to sit still. He could see it all before him, the stars, the galaxy, the messages sent between ensigns and privates, captains and admirals.

 _We are going home._

One set of coordinates, sent to all. Shakuras, unexpected but welcome. And a second set, sent only to him by the same channel. One whose worth could already be measured, even if the origin or intent were unknown.

He held the Koprulu Sector now, everyone knew it. The Umojans could take their relay and shove it up their refined asses, the asari would not risk trying to blunt the blow of Earth's fleets. They were flighty. Weak. And he knew their secret.

The quarians – the quarians sat on a zerg nest. All it would take was a push of a button to send it into a frenzy. _And all we would lose of value is Coates. Requiescat in pace._

So what did that leave? The protoss. And now their attention was diverted, the Nerazim fleeing the Citadel to protect the homeworld, the High Templar converging around their Hierarch, who spat fire. And the turians…

"QEC linked with Citadel, Admiral." EDI, more worryingly indispensable by the day. "It's Rear Admiral Anderson."

The krogan. They still needed to be dealt with. Loyal infantry to hold the sector, to allow them to head home. _Where I will find my salvation or punishment._

It did not matter any longer. What mattered was that Gerard was honored. And that meant making sure the sacrifice was not in vain, that they could go home without fear. Perhaps it would be to the welcome of a Brazilian execution, but it was doubtful they would turn their noses up at the empire Alexei would grant them. A _pax terra._ But there was so little time.

"Admiral Stukov." Rear Admiral Anderson, looking so proud and fine in his white cap and uniform. Staring at Alexei with naked worry and a little hate. He still saluted. "It is time for us to leave."

"Agreed, Anderson." Alexei swallowed, feeling the pain in his throat. An illness to be ignored. It did not matter now. "And that is why I entrust the final preparations to you. We are almost there."

"You've been saying that for some time. Sir." Alexei cocked his own head at David's words. Defiance? Here? Now? "I struggle to believe it. The Citadel is covered in protoss, the turians are howling for blood, and it seems the Reapers might still be active. We need to go home. Reconfigure."

"A retreat to Earth compromises Earth. You know this. We have swatted fifteen protoss observers out of the sky, following our ships."

"The protoss will discover us sooner or later, sir, it is hardly as if their intentions towards us are…" David stopped. _Yes, he realizes that a terran just tried to kill a protoss representative._

"I need you to trust me, Rear Admiral." Alexei could not stop fidgeting, which likely undermined what he was trying to do. "Everything I do, I do for Earth. For the memory of proud Gerard DuGalle, who would want his two daughters to live free of alien-borne fear. I have orders. The final orders for you. But I sense you will not like them. That you do not have what is necessary to bring these men home."

"Do not bait me, Stukov." David ran his hands across the fabric of his hat in lieu of hair, hard enough for the sound to carry through the QEC. "DuGalle would have brought us home by now."

"And he would have been wrong." _Truly, he would have been._ Alexei sighed. "Do you think a full retreat, a full retreat with the intent of holding the territory we have taken – do you think that comes without preparation? Do you think it comes without sacrifice? We have watered these distant worlds with our blood, Rear Admiral Anderson. I would see something sprout from our efforts."

"What would you have me do, then?" David bared his teeth. "And I swear, Admiral, do not dishonor me with your next order. Do not dishonor Earth. Do not dishonor the human species."

"Are you so bloated on your status as an alien icon that you would speak to a superior officer this way, Anderson?" The rage came quickly now, surprising and uncontrolled. "I think of many faces when I ponder our return to Earth, and yours comes up most frequently among those I must not fail. Your sacrifices outstrip anyone else's, perhaps even mine. Cease this impertinence, Rear Admiral, I have little time for it."

"My apologies. Sir." David's face now looked chiseled from stone, a splendid onyx statue. "Orders?"

"A UED command center on Tuchanka has been stolen by Ganar Okeer." He paused, looked for the reaction. David's eyebrows only raised, disappearing under the hat. "This is the first major security breach we have suffered in our duration here, outstripping efforts by the geth and salarians to crack EDI. They have direct physical access to some of our most prized files. Among them, the coordinates for Earth."

"How did this happen?" David's jaw set, the fists clenching as the anger turned to worry. Good. It made Alexei proud to see. "I thought Okeer was heavily monitored."

"He was." _He also weighs close to a thousand pounds of muscle, something the poor souls at that base forgot._ "There was outside infiltration, we think. A prisoner uprising. They left no survivors, although I do not think you will mourn Kai Leng's rather painful passing."

"I mourn every soldier that falls in defense of their duty. Sir." Impressive. Alexei could almost believe that. "Where is this command center now?"

"I ask that you remind yourself that your duty lies with everyone in this fleet, with the men and women who stand beside you … and those back home. Not with the acquaintances you have made out here in the black." David did not respond, only waiting patiently, perhaps bracing himself. "They bear for Eden Prime, slowly. Interception may not be an option at this point. It is clear they seek refuge in the ITSA."

"The intel reports claimed assaulting the ITSA to be suicide, sir." David spoke through near gritted teeth, and Alexei began to sweat. "There are also elcor on the planet, who will not take kindly to UED intervention. Moreover, many of us fought alongside their citizens. Are you … are you really certain about this?"

"Remember Earth, Rear Admiral." Alexei considered mentioning Kahlee Sanders, but that seemed rather unwise. "All we need is the central databank of the command center. They can keep everything else." _Perhaps we will lose the krogan. Perhaps all will be exposed. But … this second set of coordinates … and I know the Umojan's secret._ "Retrieve the databank by any means necessary and immediately retreat through Relay 118. The other side is heavily mined and guarded – you will be safe there. There will be no reprisal, regardless of what you do. You have my word on that."

"All we need is the databank," repeated David, leaning forward with teeth bared. "Confirmed?"

"Yes. Peaceful methods preferable. Violent methods permittable." Alexei folded his arms. "Finish this for Earth, Rear Admiral. It is the only gap in the armor. Everything else has fallen into place. We can go home."

"You will answer for some of your doings when we get back to Earth, Admiral." Naked insubordination … but Alexei felt only amusement, for he sensed David was about to agree. "The things I have been hearing from Tuchanka … if even half of them were true, I suspect Alenko and Shepard would desert. I don't think they would be alone."

"And they would be traitors to Earth for doing so." Alexei shrugged. "Never again would they see her green shores. Think carefully on that … David. Now send in the turian."

David vanished with what might have been a muffled curse, leaving Alexei standing awkwardly while he waited for Saren Arterius, someone he had never before suspected ending up in bed with. _But if what I hear is true…_

"Admiral Stukov." Saren, murderer of Tarsonis, he of one mechanical arm. First of the turians to make contact with humanity. He stared at Alexei with suspicion, the metal arm slightly facing him. "I think I know what this is about. I've seen the reports. I've spoken to Nova."

"How badly do you want to kill protoss, Saren?" Alexei asked, taking the turian back. "How far are you willing to go?"

"I am sick of terrans trying to manipulate me." Saren's mandibles lowered, exposing sharp teeth. "You are no Arcturus Mengsk. Do not honey your words. Elaborate. Clearly. Lie and I alert the Primarch that the UED is a threat. Turians have only one response to threats."

"I intend to murder large amounts of protoss without warning, centered at the Citadel." Alexei breathed heavily, grinning a wolfish grin without really meaning to. It seemed ridiculous to say out loud … but the results bore out. They had done it. "All I need is someone to get on board their arkship, and activate a device. They have returned their arkship to the Citadel, yes? In response to that murdering _suka_ going ballistic on Aldaris?"

"The Hierarch is here on the _Spear of Adun._ " Saren's words made the color in the room grow that much brighter. "They have spirited away the Judicator, however. What is this device?"

"It overloads psionics." Alexei chuckled, and couldn't stop. "It took much testing. We set it to a frequency … it will touch only beings of incredible psionic power, but with such great strength. Such a device might have been enough to undo the Overmind, ignoring of course the incredibly limited range. But … it's contagious. We have tested it on twins."

"You are sick." Saren stared down at Alexei as if he were a worm. Him! Who plotted to overthrow heaven, who had been given the tools by likely the devil himself! "All of you terrans. All of you humans. What have you brought to the galaxy but death since your arrival? Believe it or not, we were at peace before you came here. Asari, salarians, and turians. All at relative harmony."

"It is the protoss's fault as much as ours." Alexei spread his arms wide. "And we did not open fire on your vessel. You still have not forgotten, I am told this."

"It is an old wound. One that bleeds freely as people spit the events of Tarsonis at my face." Saren sneered. "And that was human doing. The only one of you ever worth a damn was Jim Raynor. Would that he were here now."

"Are you refusing what I have to offer?" Alexei folded his arms. "Tell me, quickly."

"Will this device harm Dark Templar? Will it harm Nova?" A curious question, one monster to another.

"The device has been tested extensively. Even on Nova. It was designed for one thing only: to kill the Khala. Their greatest strength. Their only weakness. They cannot help but feel what each other feel."

"So only High Templar will die." Saren snorted. "I know you speak the truth. Nova has told me some of what she knows … does that infuriate you? That disloyalty?"

"Nova turned to us because we killed Mengsk and the Umojans are weak. Or so the constant mind programming told her." Alexei shrugged. "She knows nothing of true importance. She may share as she wishes, I will not harm her. I only want one thing: total neutralization of all powers that contest the Koprulu Sector."

"And the turians fall outside it." Saren closed his eyes, thinking. "Even if the Hierarch has forgotten it, we are only one bad day away from seeing Palaven burn. One misunderstanding. One unintentional religious sacrilege. And for what it is worth, Aldaris likely is guilty. Making Garrus's death for him…" Saren clenched his fists.

"I will tell you what you need to get the device on board the Citadel." Saren sucked in a deep breath. "What does it matter? I am already a monster in the eyes of so many, Jim Raynor included. If the Reapers are gone, what use are the protoss any longer? Some even sided with them. It's time to end what they began over that relay so long ago."

"Soon the Hierarchy will be able to consider itself the most powerful military force in the galaxy." Alexei bowed his head. "I will not contest that title. Let us finish this business, then."

Saren vanished from sight without a word. That left one more, one linked to him.

Alexei exited the QEC and strolled to his quarters, where Nova had been bid to wait. No doubt she would be up to something impudent in the meantime.

To Alexei's surprise, she had only poured two glasses of vodka, one for each of them. She did however, lean impudently on the couch, raising her half-full glass in mock toast.

"I hear you're all leaving soon." Nova frowned. "I hope you have a plan to stop naked chaos descending on the Sector when you pull out."

 _I have plans. So many plans._

"Of course, Nova." Alexei did not sit, instead standing over her, wondering how it came to this, that colonial women would outstrip the women of Earth in traditional beauty. _Blonde hair is such a rarity now … Kahlee Sanders is one in a million._ Not that such things truly interested him. "There is one last thing I would have you do. Your asari enemy, the one who mauled you and Valerian on Noveria … she yet lives."

"So the Umojans lied. It's all they are good for." Hard to tell what was genuine and what was the programming. "They lied to the protoss, too. Not a good idea to do that."

"I need you to finish off the Zerg Swarm once and for all." Alexei's sweaty hands flexed and unflexed. "I will supply you with Culexuses, tuned to hurt only greater intelligences. Intelligences such as Liara. You will win this rematch, and the horror of the Great War will be ended."

"Sure I can't take her without them?" Nova raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "Hmph. If she survived … do you think Valerian, maybe…?"

"And what would that change?" snapped Alexei, making Nova give him a warning look. "I … I apologize. Nothing can go wrong at this stage, or it all falls apart. No, neither EDI nor a trusted source of mine has seen him. He is dead."

"Right. Of course. The Mengsk dynasty is ended." Nova rose to her feet, and Alexei suddenly found himself standing shorter than a woman. A woman who could kill him in seconds. "And it wouldn't change anything if it were not. All hail humanity. All hail Earth."

"Rally a strike team and hit the location hard," snapped Alexei. "Expect Shadowguards and possible quarian or asari resistance. Now leave; I have enough to deal with without enduring your wit."

"Right." Nova blew Alexei a kiss, a move so unexpected and outrageous Alexei could only stare. "I'll be back once the zerg and rachni are extinct. Again. This is to be the last time, right?"

Alexei had no response. Nova sauntered out of the room with confidence Alexei could only envy, leaving him with his thoughts. Leaving him with his coordinates, one leaked publicly, the other only to him.

Aiur.

Three chess pieces, maneuvered, although to what end, Alexei could only make an educated guess. He had never been very good at chess.

"You are making a mistake, Alexei," said the deep voice behind him, the one that made Alexei shiver in terror and delight.

"EDI, I require privacy." The AI complied immediately, and Alexei turned to his oldest friend. "You are a most vexing hallucination. When did I start displaying symptoms of schizophrenia? One does not start seeing things without some warning, some diagnosis."

"Perhaps it is an act of God." Gerard DuGalle, perfection in uniform, sitting on the bed and staring at Alexei with such sad, accusing eyes. "Perhaps the galaxy itself is telling you to stop this before it is too late."

"I will not be stopped. You said yourself there are non-military victories – the Culexus represents one." Alexei removed his camp, ran twitching fingers through his hair. "I cannot go home with anything less than total victory, total subjugation of this Sector. I have to have undeniable proof of supremacy. That is the only thing that will save us. I only have a little time left; you saw the Rear Admiral!"

"You were given an order by Fleet Admiral Hackett." Words dropping like stone from a mountain, with force and weight. "You swore an oath to humanity, in all its forms. Can you not see humanity in the eyes of the aliens? That same spark of intelligence, that desire for their will to be respected?"

"Would you go to your grave a pointless martyr, old man?" snapped Alexei, backing away from this irritating phantasm. "The rachni still live, as do the zerg. EDI confirms it, as does our mysterious planet-leaking friend. Another loose end to be tied up. Your murderers. The Umojans lied to the protoss."

Gerard's eyes widened slightly, but then he stood, towering.

"How many races must you extinguish before you feel all the ghosts have been put to rest, Alexei?" DuGalle spread his arms wide. "How many have to die until you feel you have accomplished something of worth out here? Were the eight hundred on board that collector ship not enough? Where have they gone, I wonder? There was no evidence of them or the ship that took them on that base. Your true enemy lies outside the galaxy. And these races you hope to annihilate are your only allies against them."

"You're a very talkative hallucination." Alexei shut his eyes, which began to water. _A very convincing hallucination. But he is dead._ "I am only doing my service for the United Earth Directorate. Nothing else."

"Your actions will doom the Directorate, Alexei." The words seemed to make the room shake. "Primitive. So primitive, these attitudes you have collected. Are you a Neanderthal, leaping at the shadows on the cave walls? These aliens wish only to capitalize on the peace they think the collector base provided them. Search yourself and tell me, tell me honestly: is this the reasonable course of action to take? Have you learned nothing?"

"I have learned how to kill the protoss and finish off the zerg." Alexei wiped the tears trickling down his nose. "I have united the human race. Nothing you can say will dissuade me from what I must do."

"Then you must be broken. No matter the cost."

"Oh, my good admiral." Alexei smiled up at this illusion with a tormented smile, tasting salt on his lips. "I was broken so long ago."


	59. Two Good Men

**James**

"Scratch." Jim against the wall with his pool cue in hand, trying not to laugh as Buck cursed his metal arm, almost throwing his own pool against a wall in frustration. "Woulda thought a few years with that arm would have improved your game, boy."

"Don't call me boy, son." Buck lifted his filthy plastic cup from the pool table and spat some tobacco into it. "I'm havin' an off day. All my days on Eden Prime been off, what with this place bein' boring as shit."

"Right. 'Cuz our lives always need more excitement." Jim pointed his pool cue to the right corner pocket on the other end from him. "Eight ball. Right there."

"Uh huh." Buck fumbled in his jacket for more tobacco. "You heard from your woman, yet?"

For a moment he thought he had meant Sarah. _God no, I don't want to think of that. Attackin' a damn councilor … and the other thing. Has to be breakin' her heart._ But Jim only looked up and smiled, hoping Buck didn't notice that it was a bit forced.

"She sent me a postcard from Umoja." Jim smiled cheekily as the eight ball slid into the pocket. "No sign of Duran, but she thinks he's close. He's been close for a while now, feels like, but I didn't want to tell her that."

"Know what I think?" Buck chewed noisily on his tobacco for a moment before continuing. "I think he'll show up here and buy us all a round of beers for puttin' up with his business, for bein' good sports."

"You sayin' that in the hopes he'll cover the round you now owe me?" Jim smirked. "Three games in a row. Maybe I should take up hustlin'. Who they gonna report me to, the marshal?" The door opened behind Jim, but he was busy taking his time putting all the balls back where they belonged, preparing for Buck's next inevitable loss.

"You're a wicked man full of wicked thoughts, Jim," said Buck, "Trome always … oh."

Jim stopped and stared at Buck, who now looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"Little Jimmy Raynor," said a deep, familiar voice behind him. _Knew this day would come._ "The people's hero."

"You plannin' that dramatic entrance, Tychus?" Jim turned to his former companion, arms already defensively folded across his jacket. _Shit. He looks bigger than I remember._ "You don't look so good."

Tychus grunted, his face smudged with dirt, his clothes likewise disheveled. He looked at Jim with a strange kind of sadness, a mix of regret and trepidation. Still, the initial impression Jim received, looking the man up and down in all his filthy glory, was that of a wild animal, hungry and unpredictable.

"Forgot the criminal life ain't what it's cracked up to be." Tychus glanced at Buck. "Evenin' Buck."

"Evenin' Tychus. You bring Xeltan with you? How's the woman?"

"Xeltan's out back. And Jack's damn fine, as always." Tychus jerked his head back at Jim. "He's the man we're here to see, though. I need your help."

"Right." Jim nodded. "Right. What do you want from me, Tychus? You doin' train heists again? Infiltratin' another party? What do you want from me?"

Tychus's face cracked, his slight snarl turning lopsided. "Don't gotta get angry partner. I'm runnin' here scared. I've seen things."

"What?" Jim stepped forward, brow furrowed, pool cue gently put on table. "Didn't think someone like you got scared, Tychus. What have you seen? Why would you come back here? You didn't like the life of a Raider, and now the Raiders are gone. They ain't needed no more."

"I've seen bodies piled up in churches, partner." That made Jim straighten up a little. "I've seen Morians lined up and shot in the street and aliens dragged off in vans. I've seen common men of our sector, terrans born and bred, puttin' the boot to those that would question their new overlords." Tychus looked Jim in the eye. "Cerberus sent me here, partner, 'cause they want you back, keepin' that perpetual revolution goin'. But that ain't why I came. I seen what's comin'. This might be the only safe place. From them and the Earthers."

"This about the Directorate? Sounds like 'em." Jim sighed. "Look man, I don't agree with what they're doin', but they really ain't all that different from the Dominion and Confederacy. Same bunch of higher ups dictatin' what's good for all of us. Same rebels as always. 'Cept here. What makes these guys different?" Jim's omnitool pinged just as Tychus opened his mouth to respond. "Hold on."

Jim held up his free hand before sidling into the vacant men's bathroom, nose wrinkling at the smell. _Least it's private._ He tapped the omnitool.

"Raynor here."

"We have a slight situation here, Marshal." Captain Skur, one of Matt's boys responsible for the orbital defenses. "We have what appears to be an unidentified command center bearing straight for Constant. It's moving slow and doesn't have much of a signature – not sure how long it's been in the system. It doesn't appear able to respond to our hails."

"A command center?" Jim stared at himself in the smudged mirror, his own confused expression catching his eye. _Christ, am I that gray? When did I get that many wrinkles?_ "How long do I got until arrival?"

"If you take your vulture to the central square right now, sir, you should be just in time for touchdown. We've already cleared the area."

"This should be good. I'll head out now." Jim left the bathroom to confront a confused Tychus and Buck. He ignored them both, instead waving at the bartender, who glanced up from the counter, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Joeyray! Put it all on Buck's tab."

"Goddamn it all, Jimmy, can't you at least leave me with some dignity?" Jim winked at Buck before trying to walk outside. Tychus blocked him. "Is there a problem, Tychus?"

"What's comin'?" Tychus looked Jim up and down. "I know they're comin'."

"Not sure. Command center." Jim shouldered past Tychus. "Got a job to do, man. I'm retired from the galaxy savin' crap, but I keep myself busy. Same as I used to."

Jim stepped into the chill night air and breathed in the life of Eden Prime. Even in the dark it still looked as green as Mar Sara had been red, the empty expanse in each direction brimming with life. Xeltan and Jack stood near a rusted looking rental, Jack leaning against the door with the same unimpressed air Jim was used to seeing. Xeltan just looked at him without saying anything.

"Jimmy!" Tychus stomped out of the bar, eyes lined with exhaustion. "If it's them, don't let 'em in. Don't let 'em take what they want."

"Directorate or Cerberus?" Jim slid on to his vulture and hit the engine, the radio beginning to blare. "I still consider Harper a friend of mine."

"Don't let 'em bring that war here, partner. But it's the Directorate what chills ol' Tychus's bones."

 _Right._ Jim sped off on to the open road, following the grain rail right into the newly (if still very sparsely) repopulated capital. _Constant. She ain't fallin' again._

The skyline of the city was deceptive now. Plenty of tall buildings with lots of lit windows, but maybe one in five had more than ten or so people living in it. The collectors had left the city totally empty, and even folks desperate to get out of the Koprulu Sector hesitated to live in a ghost city. Especially a ghost city so obviously haunted.

 _Take one wrong turn and it's like you step into a bad dream._ Just last week Jim had found an alley the cleanup crews had missed, and it was strewn with all manner of strange and depressing shit, the kind of things that would wash up on the shores after a shipwreck. An empty pair of shoes, a tattered child's rag doll, torn strips of clothing that looked like they had been shredded by claws…

Others claimed to have seen things, but that was probably just the imagination. Jim had heard the same kind of stories of people who had gone back to Tarsonis to salvage from the cities the zerg had vacated. A man's mind was prone to playing tricks in places he knew corpses once lay.

As he sped into the depressingly empty streets, Jim could hear the faint sound of klaxons. He looked up in time to see what looked like a damn UFO beginning its descent, only recognizing the familiar circular structure for what it was as the side of its roof came into view. _Command center. And it's … UED._ For some reason that made Jim's gut clench just a little bit, if only because of what Tychus said. _It looks beat up. One of the rear thrusters looks like it got banged about by micrometeorites, maybe. Ain't firing right._

Eden Prime's Civil Defense forces had already established a cordon around where the command center looked about to land, a crew of blue-clad lawmen spreading their arms wide to keep the meagre (if interested) crowd of terrans, asari, and elcor back. The command center chugged through the air, thrusters sputtering, and as Jim dismounted with his gaze fixed on the clumsy building, it fell roughly to earth, sending a plume of dirt up in each direction.

"Oh thank the Goddess, Jim Raynor's here." An asari officer, rushing over to him. "Marshal, it looks to be UED, but it's awful banged up. Faulty transmitter and thrusters. It's a miracle it got here." _Awful banged up. Heh. If the zerg didn't ruin the asari completely, terrans finished the job._

"Well, this ain't as scary as seein' a weird ass shuttle in the middle of Belcher's Pass." The asari looked non-plussed. "That was the day I met Saren. This ain't a UFO. It's just a POS UED command center." ' _Course, couldn't tell you why it's here._ "Lemme go knock. If it's Saren, don't worry. I know what to do." _Put a bullet in him before he sets the zerg on this planet, too._

Jim walked up to the smoking door of the command center, the eyes of the crowd on him as he did so. An elcor casually unfolded his railguns from his police harness as he passed by, the VI helpers targeting the door in event of trouble. _So I feel quite safe. Could be full of zerg and I'd feel safe._

Jim, for lack of a better idea, knocked. After a moment's pause came a hushed voice.

"Knocking? Unexpected. Polite. Attention polite terran, asari, or exceedingly gentle elcor! Opening door. Hold fire, please."

"I know that voice." Jim stood to the side, and the metal door screeched open. Mordin Solus strode into the dim city lights, but Jim barely recognized him.

His skin, which had once been a mixture of flesh tones and red tones, now bore gray, and even peeled in places. His eyes now sunk into his face slightly, and he caught open sores on his hands and bare legs. He did not wear the same doctor's outfit Jim had left him in, but instead some kind of filthy shift. Jim did not catch the smell at first, but that did not last long.

"Jesus Christ. Mordin?" Jim stepped up to him, resisting the urge to keep his distance or plug his nose. "Mordin? What the hell happened to you?"

"Found what UED doing on Tuchanka." Mordin stared at Jim, mouth a hard line. The ribs stood out under his ill-fitting shift. "Rescued who I could."

"Jim Raynor." The massive krogan, Okeer. His voice now croaked instead of boomed, and he carried a heavy looking hammer in his arms, the head stained with dried blood and matted hair. "Step inside. Let me show you what we're running from."

"You too?" Jim could smell the putrid fumes from within the command center. Still, he would not look away from a hard truth when it was presented to him. He looked back to the elcor. "Harlan? Follow me in. Just in case."

"Dutifully: I've got your back." Jim waited for the elcor to close the distance. Then, coughing slightly at the smell, he stepped foot inside the command center. Muted despair stared back at him.

"UED science camp." Mordin gestured to several prisoners. "No asari or terrans. Mostly batarians, salarians, and turians. Self among them. Forced Okeer to work on cure. Tainted cure."

"I doubt we have much time before they come calling." Okeer glanced skyward, at the metal ceiling. The elcor strode in behind Jim at that moment. It emitted a keening cry Jim could not say he had heard before, a horrible horse-like scream. "The UED has impressive medical knowledge … and no compunctions on how it should be used. You have seen it work wonders on the battlefield. I have seen it work horrors behind the scenes."

Batarians with bloodshot eyes half-closed by some green crust looked at Jim, some clutching each other. Turians with broken fringes and mandibles nodded to him, recognizing rescue, or help, or something. The salarians either did not register or babbled nonsense at him, and Jim held up his hands to try and make them stop.

"Tainted cure?" asked Jim, staring at the desolation around him. "What the fuck else could it have been? What did they do to these people, Mordin? What did they do to you?" Jim's omnitool pinged, but Jim just slapped his wrist and hung up. _Not now!_ "How – this is some Mengsk level shit."

"Mengsk did not object to alien citizens." Mordin spoke curtly. "Other faults. Many faults. Many dead at feet. But do not equate what you see here with anything else terran. Earthborne evil. Unspeakable evil. Cannot negotiate. Even if Reapers threatened galaxy – would not negotiate." Mordin breathed sharply through his nose. "All has to be exposed. Location of Earth, experiments, plans – all of it. Have UED terminal. Direct physical line to EDI. Vital information."

"This is the first command center the UED has lost. The first opportunity to share what the UED has done. Enslaving the krogan. Preparing an onslaught for the protoss." Okeer grinned at Jim, but it only gave Jim the impression the krogan wanted to swallow his head. _Which might be true._ "They'll be coming for this one." Jim's omnitool pinged again, and Okeer stared at it thoughtfully. "They might already be here."

Jim stared up at the ceiling. His heart began to drum. He hit his omnitool.

"Matt?"

"It's Rear Admiral Anderson, sir, with the Citadel garrison." Jim shut his eyes and bit his lips. _I thought I was done with this shit._ "Sir, they are bearing directly for us. I am maneuvering Second Fleet above Constant and alerting First Fleet. They are at Elysium right now, reinforcements might take a while. Should I hail them?"

"Get Swann over to the command center that just landed here, I got something for him to crack." Jim motioned for Harlan to follow him. "Wait here, Mordin. I also need immediate emergency services for all crew of this command center – aliens on the run from the UED. Evac them from the city. Matt, this ain't something we can ignore."

"Maybe we can talk him out of … whatever he's doing." Matt, sounding pained. "I'll send Swann down in a shuttle. Alerting emergency services. I can patch you into Anderson once he's within tightbeam range, if you think it will help."

"If anything will, it might as well be that." Jim raised his voice to the crowd. "Clear out! Clear out! Back to your homes, we got a UED task force inbound!"

Jim expected panic but only got mutters and confusion. The crowd dispersed only at the insistence of the other Civil Defense officers, who at least took what Jim said seriously, and the people began the short journey back to their lonely homes. Overhead, a shuttle blazed a course directly for the command center. Emergency sirens sounded. _God help us. I hope we don't hear more of that tonight._

"Firing up Constant defense grid. Alerting Herdwarden Jilsa." Matt, running through the precautions. Overhead, the stars winked out temporarily as the citywide kinetic barriers came online, a gift from the turians. _We ain't losin' this city again._

A bulky car pulled up, headlights blazing, but Jim had no time for it, yelling at Harlan to get the idiots out of there. Jim instead covered his face and jogged to Swann's shuttle, which now disgorged the dwarf – and Stettman, for good measure.

"A regular Raiders reunion! Good to see ya, Cowboy." Swann, muscles sticking out even tighter against his jumpsuit than Jim remembered. _Guess I know what he's doing with all his new free time._ He shook Jim's hand roughly, near crushing it, only to whistle at something behind Jim. "A regular damn reunion! Wasn't sure I'd ever see you three again!"

Jim wheeled around on the idiots from the car. Jack, Xeltan, and Tychus, staring at the command center. Tychus fixed on the UED symbol above its entrance. Jack fixed on the people staggering out of it, held up by EMTs.

"Outraged: what is this?" Xeltan stepped forward for a closer look, ignoring the desperate words of the closest law enforcement officer. "With barely concealed fury: I can see Okeer. Did he do this? Who is responsible?"

Jack opened her mouth and Jim expected some pithy or bloodthirsty remark. Instead she just threw up.

"Oh God," she said covering her mouth. "It's happening again. The same kind of shit."

"Knew they would come here, partner." Tychus's tone was dead. "Everywhere there's a human, they're gonna reach out. Make 'em what they think they're supposed to be. A sea of identical faces, dancin' to one tune. And the aliens are in the way of that."

"Wait here," ordered Jim to the three. "Just – leave 'em alone, for a minute. They were the Raiders' heavy hitters once, could actually do some damage if we need that. Swann, I need you to crack into a quantum computer terminal."

"That all?" asked Swann dryly, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, hotshot, I'll see what kind of ice this EDI can throw up when I got direct goddamn access. Been itchin' to get an up close look at this UED tech."

"And what's he gonna do?" Jim jerked a thumb back at Stettman.

"It's a quantum computer, Jim," said Stettman with confusion. "I just want to get a look at it! Oh, what's that smell?"

Stettman followed Jack's example and threw up at the command center entrance. Swann only coughed into a glove and looked up and down at the central terminal, pulling his goggles over his eyes. "Well, these ain't the best conditions, but I've worked with worse. I ever tell you about that sewer job back at Demon's Fair?"

"What happened in here?" asked Stettman, now distinctly green. He looked around at the filth left behind by dead and dying people. "What is this?" Jim shook his head, taking Swann by the shoulder.

"Swann, can EDI wipe her files, make this terminal useless?"

"Local files, sure. I imagine she's already done that. But this shit's quantum, and unless the hardware is physically destroyed, it's gonna have a direct link to the rest of the network." Swann sniffed. "I imagine this thing's got scuttlin' charges to make sure capture doesn't usually happen, but I'm guessin' by the look of the place the UED didn't get a shot at that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Eh, Cowboy, I gotta be honest here. I don't know how long this will take, or if I can do it at all."

"Let's just give it the old college try!" yipped Stettman. They both stared at him. "Sorry. This place makes me nervous."

"Well, it might get even more nervewrackin' in a few minutes." Jim's omnitool was pinging again, and he suspected he might have to make a run for the armory. _I had really hoped I would not need that suit again. Rear Admiral, if there were ever a time to honor a friendship over your nation…_ "Do your best. Just as long as your best is quick."

"You got it, Jim." Swann activated his own omnitool and motioned Stettman to step closer. Jim's omnitool kept pinging. _No more time left._

Jim stepped into the cool night air again and stared up at the shimmering heavens, at the barrier separating him from sudden orbital annihilation. _And now, the moment of truth._

David Anderson's face stared back at him from the omnitool alongside Matt Horner's, each of them in their country's uniform. _And here's me, in a jacket and jeans._ David smiled, but Jim could see his heart breaking.

"I think I said that if the universe was kind we would see each other again, Jim." David looked away for a moment, most like trying to steel his resolve. "The universe is not kind."

"He wants the command center central terminal, sir, either recovered or destroyed." Matt cleared his throat. "I have informed Anderson that he has violated our borders and is to leave immediately."

"I either leave with my mission fulfilled or not at all, Matt." David shut his eyes. "That command center came from Tuchanka. Let me guess. It was filled with horrors."

"Like you wouldn't believe." Jim brought his wrist closer to his face, tried to make David see what he felt. "Like you couldn't withstand. I dropped Mordin Solus off at Prospero and he looked healthy as a damn mule. He steps out of that command center-" Jim looked away, shaking with anger. "It was like someone melted the life off of him, or animated his skeleton. And he was one of the healthy ones in there. Is that how far the UED's gonna take this racial supremacy nonsense? Did I just glimpse the future awaiting you fuckers?"

"There will be a reckoning, Jim." David sucked in a deep breath. "Admiral Stukov is … well. There was a reason he was placed second in command. An able administrator and tactician … but not a good man. Gerard was a good man. But he is dead."

"Is this the kind of reckoning that's gonna happen right now, man?" Jim was spitting now, his saliva flying through the omnitool display and making Matt wince. "You gonna turn around, find where he's hidin', and finally wax that son of a bitch?"

"Not without that computer." David stared Jim in the face. "Jim, would that this were only about me or you. EDI alone knows the location of Earth. The pilots, the technicians – they sleep during the journey. Only the AI knows how to return home. She cannot be mindread by the protoss. Normally, she could not be breached to this extent. But now, doubtless you have Rory Swann or some other equally intelligent colonial engineer, trying to break through."

"The galaxy deserves to know what the UED is doin'." Jim pointed a finger at David's face. "Rear Admiral? If you'd seen what I just seen-"

"Then doubtless I would hasten back to the Koprulu Sector. After I knew my homeworld was safe." David's eyes grew wet, but his mouth hardened. "It is not just about the woman I intend to marry back on Earth. It is not just about the family back home. It is about all of the sweethearts, friends, and family of everyone in this fleet. It's about having a home to return to. I don't give a damn about the UED's ideals of purity. I look at you and Matt, and I see good men where they would see only mongrels. But Earth is where I was born. It is where I intend to die. It is where the men and women under me crave to return. And if those coordinates leak, the protoss, the Reapers, and any other horrors this galaxy holds will be able to find it, in its lonesome solar system far from help."

"And you ain't leavin' unless you know for certain it's safe." Jim paused, nodded to himself, his own eyes watering.

"Many people in the Armada have no knowledge of what is happening on Tuchanka, or in any of the labs, Raynor." David shrugged helplessly. "Even I have little knowledge, only suspicions. Stukov prefers me as a figurehead to rally the enlisted. And the people back on Earth … not everyone supported this expedition. Not all bowed to the will of Stukov and his ilk."

"But that don't change what you came here to do." Jim exhaled real slow. "Heh. You know man, this would be a lot easier if we weren't both good men."

David chuckled, the saddest chuckle Jim had ever heard. "Cruel irony that magnificent specimens such as we end up shackled to snakes such as Mengsk and Stukov. You put a bullet in yours. I intend to put a bullet in mine. All you need to do is submit that computer."

Jim looked back to the command center and remembered how Mordin had stumbled out of it. Remembered his words.

"Like you said, this ain't just about you or me. The collector base had to be exposed to everyone to make sure they believed, that they would not forget or ignore the danger. I can't risk you dilutin' that horror, even if for the sake of protectin' your homeworld. That kind of evil … we can't wait. We have to shine the light on it."

"Well then." David ran a hand over his face. For a moment, he looked like a haggard old man, confronting the headstones of far too many dead friends. "Morituri te salutant. I truly am sorry, Jim. Matt."

"Yeah. Me too." David's face winked out. Jim glanced at Matt. "You got a fight on your hands. I'll rally the city." Matt's face disappeared, and Jim knew he was out of time. _Hoped I wouldn't have to access the emergency broadcast system._ At the flick of his omnitool, the horrid sounding blare of it echoed around Jim.

"Constant – this is Marshal Raynor. We are under attack by UED forces. They are here in force, and they threaten the sovereignty of the ITSA, so freshly reestablished. They threaten the aliens of the galaxy, no matter their power or location. They threaten our homes and our families with their ideology. I need brave militiamen and women, no matter the stripe or experience, to stand up for the sake of liberty. At the same time, if you ain't fightin', get the hell in those basements and lock them up tight. We ain't at risk of orbital bombardment, but the streets aren't gonna look pretty. Haul ass to the city outskirts if you're fightin'. They'll be here soon."

 _Feels way too much like Mar Sara. Or Tarsonis. Like the end of the fucking world again, somehow._ But it was just men. Ordinary men. Good men, even. _Shepard and Alenko up there? Jenkins? Good God, don't let me find them on the battlefield…_

Everyone else scattered in each direction. Civil Defense asked questions, but Jim just pointed at the nearest armory and screamed. Muffled booms came from overhead, and Jim looked up to see distant flickering lights in the stars. _Those elcor ships can take a pounding. Hope they have what it takes._

Tychus waited by Jim's bike, staring up at the heavens as if the rapture was nigh. Jack held his hand.

"You in on this?" Jim stopped by them, pointing up at the skies. "You still got your combat gear? You bring your shit?"

"It's all I have. 'Course I brought it." Tychus gulped. "Jimmy … is this Shepard and them? That sweet little thing and her friends?"

Jim thought Jack would react to that, but she only stared at Jim with wide eyes. _Shit. This really is gonna be bad._ _She's afraid._

"Yeah, man." Jim turned away to his vulture, revved it up. "It's partly why I'll need every man and woman I can get."

"Enraged: I do not care if Tassadar himself is up there, this is our home." Xeltan pounded the earth. "Apologetic: I left too soon, and not on best terms. I will redeem myself this day. Fervent: I will bathe in Earth blood tonight."

"It's the same kind of people who cut me open. Shoved needles and gas inside of me." Jack shook her head. "Looking in that command center – shit, forgot what it looked like. Let's see how those fuckers handle me."

"Tychus?" Jim watched Tychus from his vulture. "I need every man."

"Yeah." Tychus folded his arms. "I guess I better."

"Then move."

Jim zoomed off, leaving them in the square. God knew where they would end up or how many people they would kill or even whether he would see them again, but at least they were on the right side.

People barked on street corners, directing hurried traffic into the houses. Emergency lighting turned on, bathing the city in red and orange. Overhead, the atmosphere rippled and sparkled with distant ships killing each other.

Armored elcor strolled through the streets side by side with the finest militia Eden Prime could scrounge up in a hurry. Asari in nearly skintight combat suits ushered blue CMC suited terrans to the frontlines. Jim drew level with a siege tank and passed it, hoping it would prove a match for what was coming.

By the time Jim entered the armory he had stored his old black CMC suit, his omnitool crackled with call signs and jeers from the city's defenders. He stood still, heart pounding, somehow feeling that this day was inevitable. _They came here to conquer all terrans, Jim. You knew it from the day you accepted David aboard your ship; sooner or later it would be Raiders vs. Normandy, no holds barred, to the death._ Jim's shoulder twitched as the right pauldron was riveted on. The helmet came down last, the skull the galaxy knew and loved. The familiar gauss rifle dropped into his hands.

The suit immediately wired in to the defense grid and existing standing forces. The city had pulled every one of its rusting goliaths and siege tanks out from storage, but defenders seemed at a loss at what to do against the UED beyond waiting just inside the barrier wall.

"I want Ravens active and seeding the perimeter with auto turrets." Jim's eye twitched, sending the readouts back and forth. "Spider mines at barrier's edge. Once the assault begins, remember: aim for the damn medics. They'll let the marines survive anything unless you take them out first. Matt, how you holdin' up?"

"The _Normandy's_ here!" Matt screamed back, making Jim's heart stop. "Sir, I can't counter this! Joker's going to rip through us one by one!"

"Let 'em break through the orbit. Take some of the pressure off." Jim emerged from the barracks in time to see the Ravens take off, their guts full of automated hate. "Get the hell away from that stealth ship if you can, it can't stay invisible forever."

"With simmering anger: this is Herdwarden Jilsa of the Elcor Remnants." Jim paused. He thought he could actually hear some damn inflection. "Fervently: all elcor within Constant, hold the city at all costs. All elcor without: converge. Murderously: these humans picked the wrong planet to invade."

The wall of defenders stretched just about as far as the eye could see; it seemed the entire city had turned out to put a stop to this. Jim took position among the other terrans, looking for familiar faces amongst the friendly greetings. To his happy surprise, he did find one.

"Trome." Jim nodded at the weathered bastard, who nodded back. "How about them stars? Still sparklin'. Must mean everything's alright."

"The moon shines brightly, the grass stirs in the wind, and my feet remained planted in the ground." Trome stomped in place. "If nothing else, the mechanics of this universe remain functional. I take comfort in that. It means that other mechanics, such as firing this battle rifle into the faceplate of a UED marine, will have the predictable effect of causing the marine's brains to exit his skull via any means necessary. At least, that is what my religion teaches me." Trome tapped one of the ammo bandoliers around his shoulders. "I brought some extra ammunition, to make absolutely sure."

"You're a special kind of crazy, man." Jim looked over at the fields before them, at the grain rail running into the city. "Glad you're on our side."

The siege tanks planted their pontoons into the earth behind them. The city took a deep breath.

With a shudder and a screech, the first drop pods flew overhead … straight into the kinetic barrier. It flared with blue for a moment. Then scraps of metal tumbled down from the sky as even Jim winced.

"Guess they didn't know that was there," said Trome, staring up with mild interest. "That is a truly terrible way to die."

"Quick, though." Jim pointed his gun towards the outskirts. "Only way in is through the meatgrinder. Shame the UED's pretty good at dealing with those."

"A shame the elcor are grinding the meat." Trome smiled a friendly little smile.

The air hummed with energy. Thrusters fired overhead, lights flaring in the darkness. From the heavens they descended, dozens of shuttles. Their make looked unfamiliar – angular instead of boxy, with green instruments wired to the bottom. They paused well outside the range of their guns, their own siege tanks and various other mechs deploying from shuttles alongside a plethora of infantry.

"We fought with them on Korhal," whispered Jim to Trome, who leaned in. "What exactly did they do again?"

"Wait for the batarians to bail them out, Jim."

"You're just full of sass today, aren't ya?" Jim's belly roiled like a bag full of snakes. The drop pods hit the ground with muted thunder, the Argent suits disgorging in frightening numbers.

"With mixture of excitement, hate, and foreboding: so it begins." The elcor, whoever it was, summed up Jim's thoughts perfectly.

They kept well outside the kinetic barrier. A siege tank set up and fired inquisitively, only to see its heavy shell burst against the shield. Jim could practically see the wheels turning in their distant little minds, trying to figure out the best way to go about this.

The medics milled about in number now, organizing in groups of four marines to one of them. The shuttles, strangely enough, still hovered overhead. _Waste of fuel. What are they playing at?_

"If they charge, it's gonna get hilarious." A man in bright yellow CMC armor grinned at Jim. "Fuckin' zerg rush into a siege tank line kinda hilarious. They'll get pulped."

"They ain't stupid." Jim looked through the scope of his weapon. Light infantry bearing strange long rifles now lined up alongside each squad, separate yet clearly aiming at them. _What are they doing?_

Jim got his answer soon enough when the siege tank behind him hissed and popped. He turned around just in time to see smoke rise from the ammunition storage – then it exploded.

People screamed and fell back as the siege tank burst and hot metal sprayed in all directions. Jim shouted in confusion just in time to see a goliath's leg get sawed off by some kind of hidden beam. _Shit. I know what that is._

"Back into the streets!" shouted Jim. "Out of their line of sight! The fuckers brought laser rifles – KB won't block that! Back off! All units, back off!"

The siege tanks unfolded, but the sharpshooters picked them off with sickening ease. Elcor, asari, and terran alike flooded back into the city, taking up positions in alleys, in windows above, anywhere that would hold them. The invisible beams of hot light swept and poked at the defenders, mostly aiming for armor. _And elcor._ One fell as the light burned through his armor and into his leg. Then the sniper just left him there as if taunting the others to reclaim him, left the poor bastard moaning in the street. Then they started popping the mines and autoturrets.

"Drove us back without moving an inch forward." Jim spat a stream of saliva on to the brick wall he now clung behind, watching the line far beyond. "This ain't off to a great start. Swann, you makin' progress?"

"A little, Cowboy, but I hope you got a whole lot of fight in ya, still." Swann whistled. "It's gonna be a long night."

"Elcor herd sweeping in from the northeast," muttered Jim, checking the map overlay. "But they ain't gonna push until the UED turns its back to them and enters the city. No idea when and where we could expect other reinforcements." Jim looked up just in time to see the UED begin its charge.

The siege tanks went first, the infantry forming behind them, using them as a wall. Within moments they would be inside the KB. _But them laser snipers don't have a clear line of fire._

"Elcor – charge the tanks before they set up."

The elcor did so with glee, their weapons clanking with metallic fury. The UED soldiers shouted in fright at the sudden surge of enraged quadrupeds, but the infantry held behind the tanks, which now unfolded just within the city limits. _Just a bit too late, though._

The tanks burst as the elcor unloaded their twin-linked railguns, the kind of weaponry no infantry should be able to wield. The marines and medics fanned out, the officers barking swift orders to compensate as their own range advantage disappeared. With one final muffled shout of, "For Earth!" or something equally vapid yet inspiring, the UED finally made the plunge.

"Die you sons of bitches!" Fire and fury, thunder and lead rain. Gauss rifles broke the tense silence on both sides, stunted colonial guns against the slimmer battle rifles of the Directorate. But that was not all that Jim and his brought to bear – the elcor continued their rampage, bellowing challenges at these would-be invaders in monotone unison, and the asari thrust singularities and warps alike into the ranks of the Directorate.

Jim fired in bursts, the staccato of his gun almost matching the racing of his heart, of his fevered mind. Argent facemasks sheared off at his frenzied marksmanship, the people underneath looking terrified as they were exposed and then ended. Yet others survived, pulled to their feet by panicked medics, their own combat shields thrust against the onslaught, shouting instructions to one another.

"The medics! Kill the medics!" The elcor complied, and Jim could not help but feel a stab of guilt as they turned their oversized weapons on the poor unarmed men and women (mostly the latter Jim realized to another stab of guilt) who only sought to save their comrades. The UED fanned out, spreading to each street, pushing desperately against the steel wall.

A shattered combat helmet rolled by Jim's feet, a son or daughter of Eden Prime lost. He kicked it away and took a knee, taking potshots at the ones in white. Then he noticed something strange.

The dropships split into two groups. One bore directly for the battlefield, strange instruments whirring, the others blazed their thrusters and then fucking bolted over the battlefield as if they had been fed crack cocaine. _Well, that's new. Wait – shit!_

"AA on those shuttles – they're trying to skip right to the command center." Jim fired another burst into a UED marine clutching a combat shield in one hand and a shorter rifle in the other. He staggered and then stood, the blood no longer pouring from the holes in his armor – yet no medic stood by him. _He's glowing green, though._ Jim looked up.

"All units be advised: they've strapped fucking nanosurgery equipment to the bottoms of their shuttles." Jim fired at the sensitive looking kit until it shattered and sprayed green goo everywhere. The shuttle bugged off in a hurry, using the same afterburners as before. "Target shuttles and medics!"

Another wave of drop pods rained behind the battlefield, another fresh line of shuttles bringing more sons and daughters of Earth to die for the sake of Admiral Stukov, may he rot in hell. And around him, terrans died. There was no one around to heal their wounds.

"Much of the galaxy no longer makes sense to me!" roared Trome from above, his voice carrying like honeyed thunder. "Brother turns on brother, and the promised peace never came! Yet I need not faith, for I have sighted my gun well, and I have plenty of ammo left!"

Jim fell back, firing and kneeling, firing and kneeling, pausing to fumble for a fresh magazine. A round thudded into his shoulder and sent a pauldron flying free. A medical dropship caught fire and spun into a building, filling the battlefield with smoke and dust. Still the elcor held their ground, huddling, shrugging off explosives and high caliber rounds alike, returning hot death with glee.

Still, even mountains could be worn away eventually, and more than a few lay stiff and still under their broken armor, a bigger waste than anything else Jim could think of.

 _We're being driven back._ It wasn't the numbers, which had started off about equal, but simply the fact that both sides handled attrition entirely differently. The UED had bought an initial foothold with the lives of many of their infantry, but then they had dug in and stabilized with their medics, both those on foot and up high. The elcor might have made the difference up by quite a bit, but even they weren't invincible. And those laser snipers were setting up in the back again.

"Gotta defeat 'em by detail, fall back in the city, get in small groups, and pounce on those that break off!" Jim ducked into an alley, sweating profusely. "Elcor guys, you've done enough! Take cover somewhere deeper in the city. We know Constant and they don't. Set some ambushes."

Jim only had himself to work with, everyone else had split off. He thought he heard Jack's voice somewhere close by and he for sure saw a UED officer fly twenty feet in the air, but the dust and smoke hung thick. He darted inside an abandoned sandwich shop and took cover behind the counter, laying on his belly.

Three UED soldiers trotted by the street, confused and cut off. Jim lifted himself and fired into them, cutting them apart in a haze of blood. Then he shifted, knowing that all it would take is for one squad to get wise and flush him out with grenades.

The battle now descended into a clusterfuck of urban warfare. The asari proved invaluable, swinging out windows to strike with biotics before jumping back inside, their nimbleness allowing them to reach places no poor chump in a powered suit would ever be able to. Others snuck up close and rammed omniblades through the throats of medics before biotic charging somewhere safe, calling out their kills with a laugh.

And yet, the UED owned the skies. The missile turrets on the roofs melted under the damnable laser rifles the UED had brought with them, and the shuttles flew to and fro unchallenged and unabated.

"Mines at the command center. Auto turrets at the command center." Jim gritted his teeth as he gave these orders, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. "Hold. We just gotta hold."

An elcor thundered down the street he now overlooked, thrusting a leg forward. A UED marine flew out of sight with a yelp, broken by a being used to 4g worth of weight on his being. _Yeah, never seen the elcor riled like this._ The railguns opened like wings on his back and he fired into the squad at the other end of the street, who broke and fled in all directions.

"Mocking: put that in your pipe and smoke it." The elcor folded the weapons back and trotted back the way he came to put out another fire, and Jim felt hope flood his heart.

But the UED did not back down. They knew why they were here, each of them, and no amount of elcor was going to make them retreat.

The darkness deepened, Eden Prime settling into its lengthy night cycle. Constant burned once more, the kinetic barrier doing nothing now that the enemy advanced freely within, charging over the bodies of their own dead with frightening resolve. _Not just their own dead…_

Jim and a handful of others held at the square where the command center had landed, dug in but dreading the moment the laser snipers showed up. _Least they'll be in range._ Tychus stood at his side, saying nothing, laying down suppression fire at the bloodied medics. Xeltan took the other end of the square, the only elcor to accompany them, his bombastic threats sounding increasingly strained.

The shuttles hovered just out of sight, covered by the half broken buildings that remained. Each time a marine went down full of holes, he popped right back up again, requiring far more pepper than Jim was comfortable with to drop.

"Swann," croaked Jim, glancing back at the command center. "Swann."

"Cowboy – it's, it's almost done." Swann hadn't slept either. "Heh. It's almost like, like they really didn't want anyone else doin' this. If Stettman weren't here, I sure as hell wouldn't be able to."

Jim stared up at the pitch black skies. _Matt._ "Matt."

"Jim…" The voice came riddled with static. Something flashed overhead. "Jim … I gotta do something stupid." _No. I don't like the sound of that._

"That's my job, Matt, and you know it." Jim ducked as a round glanced off a nearby wall, a UED soldier trying his luck. "Is the orbit lost? Then get outta there. Wait for the fleet from Elysium."

" _Normandy_ isn't going to let us get that far." The static increased. "I know which ship David is on, though. He's broken through, heading straight for you. Going to … yamato the command center. Rip straight through the barrier."

Jim glanced up. The horizon roared with muted menace, a shape emerging from behind the clouds. Floodlights flashed and rotated, blinding Jim even in the light of the morning. The black silhouette of a battlecruiser hung over Constant … turning to face the command center. _I'm guessing at this range, we ain't gonna look so hot standing next to a controlled nuclear blast._

Jim roared at them to move, the world slowing. He looked up again to see another silhouette.

"Armor's thick on these _Columbuses_ … but such a shame. About the lower mass."

"MATT!"

 _Norad II_ knifed through the UED battlecruiser in an inferno of twisted metal and orange plumes. Escape pods shot from both ships in all directions, both crews apparently quite aware of what was about to happen. A muffled boom rippled through the night air, followed by a lengthy scream of metal and panicked soldiers from both sides. _Norad II_ , finally having had enough, bore for a crash landing far from the city, trailing flame. It was unclear if Matt was still at the helm. The _Columbus_ , meanwhile, split in two, the hammerhead falling somewhere outside the city … the rest all around them.

"Down, get down!"

Metal and fire rained from the sky, plinking off the metal of the buildings, of their helmets. Some of it came down in great heaps and hunks.

Jim sprinted, pausing only to look up and either stop or _run faster_ , depending on what was falling where. People called out to each other in the smoke and haze, called out names in fear and anguish. A UED medic fell over in front of Jim, stared at him for a moment without recognition, and then took off without saying a word. Still the steel rained.

"Jimmy!" Tychus, waving him over with one hand, Jack standing next to him with her palms upward, deflecting the worst of it. Jim sprinted for the safety, only to hear Tychus scream and thrust his finger skyward.

Jim jumped, weapon tossed aside, arms reaching for his sometimes comrade, sometimes criminal partner. And something hard fell behind him, pinning him down.

Jim fell to his stomach, fist pounding the earth in pain.

"Applying tourniquet, left leg." A sound Jim had heard from others, but hoped never to hear from his own suit. He screamed as the suit pinched around his left leg, too hard, too hard it couldn't be right … then it went black.


	60. A Blaze of Gore

**Tychus**

Tychus abandoned Jack where she stood, lunging for Jim's frame. He lay on his belly, blacked out for the moment, a massive hunk of burning metal pinning his left leg to the ground. Without hesitation he grabbed the offending object by the edge and hauled it off Jim. There wasn't much of a leg left under it.

"Aw shit, partner." Tychus stood over Jim, uncertain whether to move him or not. Jimmy stirred and groaned, and Tychus looked around to see the sky still falling. _Hopefully the suit's taken care of the worst of it._ Tychus wrapped his arms under Jim's remaining good leg and around his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. Even in his own armor he could feel the strain, his suit whirring and complaining about bearing the weight of another CMC suit. He still took a step. Then another, Jack watched him approach but did not budge or speak, maintaining her concentration.

"He's banged up, bad." Tychus deposited Jim under Jack's bubble, looking to her with a cocked head. "I don't what to do."

"Wait until the shit stops falling," replied Jack through gritted teeth. "And then get him somewhere safe."

 _A plan as good as any._ The steel rain slowed now, only ashes falling. Jack lowered her arms slowly, still squinting up at the skies. A strange silence fell over Constant.

"Do we know who's winning?" asked Tychus dully, staring out over the cityscape around them which alternated between ashen gray and vibrant orange flame. "Does it matter?"

"You saw what those aliens looked like. You've seen what the UED's doing." Jack gave Tychus a contemptuous look, one that made him shiver with guilt. "Yes, it fucking matters. You better hope we just broke their backs."

Another one of the goddamned medical dropships flew by, trailing sparks from a number of holes. In the distance, the gunfire started up again, rattling off the broken buildings. _It ain't over._

"You get Jim safe. I'm going to link up with the elcor and tear these Earthers four new assholes." Jack stared Tychus up and down, wiping some of the blood out of her eyes with tattooed fingers. "Hey? Hey! You still with me?"

 _This ain't our fight. Came here to get away from this._ Tychus frowned, staring down at Jim and preparing to pull him up. _Only person I owe anything's right here. Got me out of the tube … but he pulled me into this. Ain't my fight._ Tychus still pulled his buddy up and looked down at Jack.

"Save some of the fight for me, darlin'," he growled, but his heart wasn't in it. He only looked around himself and saw people fighting on principle, and principle didn't feed a man. Principle wouldn't stop a bullet. Jack nodded, looked as if she were about to say something, but then just took off, the air rippling around her. _My little goddess. She don't need much lookin' after._

Tychus recognized the make of the buildings – same sturdy shit people lived in back at Mar Sara, complete with crazy secure basements. While most entrances were now blocked with rubble, it only took a few power armor assisted kicks to knock some of the fallen concrete and metal away and pull Jim inside. The place he found overlooked the square below, where the command center still waited. A film of dust and ash coated it now, but it remained unbreached. Tychus lay Jim down next to him and sat, staring through the haze of dust at their supposed last hope below.

Jim coughed and sat up, prompting Tychus to put a steadying hand on his chest.

"You're down a leg, partner," grunted Tychus. Jim's eyes unfocused slightly. "Tourniquet's in place. Gonna need a replacement from the knee downwards."

"How long I been out?" Jim gulped, his breaths growing sharp.

"Few minutes. Didn't miss much exciting." Tychus sniffed. "No idea who's winnin'."

"Matt," croaked Jim. "Swann."

Tychus didn't hear a response. Likely too much interference from the … everything. Tychus sighed.

"Best to just rest easy now, partner. Let it play out. You done your part."

"Set me up somewhere high." Jim scooted back, trying to get a better look out over the landscape. "Give me a gun. I can still shoot. Still got two workin' arms. Better to lose a leg, I think. Got lucky."

"Lucky's bein' somewhere else when it comes time for people to sacrifice their legs, Jimmy." _How can you still want to fight? You were all settled down for retirement, you got a woman waiting for you._ "Take it easy, partner. For all we know, we're winnin'."

"No." Jim pointed. "We ain't."

Far below, a small crowd of UED soldiers gathered, a medical dropship hovering overhead. A single elcor guarded the command center, but the soldiers darted out from behind collapsed beams and smoking rubble, taking potshots. Movement stirred elsewhere, and Tychus got the sneaking suspicion that the UED would be the first to claw themselves free of the ruin.

"You ain't got a stake in this, man, but I ain't lettin' this sit." Jim winced in pain as he looked down at his leg. "You wanna run? Run. You already gave it your all. You did time as a Raider. Didn't bust you outta that damn tube to get you involved in this if you don't want it. But don't leave me all useless like this."

The rifles popped below. The elcor fired a railgun blast at the shuttle, but missed narrowly as it slid back behind a building. Tychus folded his arms and looked down, thinking.

"What's there to think about?" Jim coughed again. "Tychus. Just get me up somewhere I can do damage. Don't let it all be for nothin'."

 _And then what?_ Tychus furrowed his brow. _You only had two chances at anything, Tychus Findlay. One was to be a criminal – hell, that's mostly all you done. And it's a dirty life, a dangerous life. UED makes it even more dirty and dangerous, and there's all kind of alien crap you gotta know about. And you don't._

 _Then there's the other thing. To be a Raider._ Tychus glanced back at Jim. _Jim gave you a shot at somethin' else. Maybe you wasn't cut out for it, but you got to play at bein' a hero for once. Didn't have to worry about the crew at your back killin' you for more pay._

"Why's this matter so much to you, Jimmy?" Tychus didn't turn around, just kept looking down at the last line of defense, rifle laying against his shoulder. "Break it down for me."

For several moments Jim did not answer. When he did, his voice sounded thick. "Because I know things can be better than this, man. If I just keep pushin'. I – I thought things were already better than this. But I guess there are still folks out there who just want to make absolutely sure everyone else is ground in the dirt. And they got people like me, people like Anderson – they got us fightin' like dogs for 'em." Jim laughed bitterly. "Call me crazy, Tychus, but I was hopin' we'd eventually get to a point where all the regular people, terrans and alien both, could live together without blowin' each other up."

"That's what you're fightin' for, then?" Tychus ground his teeth. "A better tomorrow. Simple as that?"

"I fight because there are some things worth fightin' for. Even dyin' for. Stoppin' these guys, exposin' Stukov – sure. Sign me up. I still got three limbs left."

Tychus's fingers flexed. The elcor fell to the ground below, his guns falling silent. The UED advanced cautiously, and another squad now appeared on the far side of the square. Tychus craned his neck to look at Jimmy, who stared back with the hair plastered to the top of his forehead. _Still willin' to give his life with a leg gone. But it'd take a real badass to stop two squads, and he's all tuckered out._

 _Dominion. UED. Cerberus. Can't give a fuck. Didn't exist when I went in to get frozen._ Tychus closed his eyes. _Was this all a bad dream? Am I still in cryo? You can still walk away from this, Findlay. Things'll sort themselves out. They always do._

The easy path lay before him. Grant Jimmy his wish. Walk away. Plenty of avenues left for an enterprising man with a willingness to kill. But it all just felt … empty. _You only made one hard choice in your life, Tychus Findlay. You saved Jim Raynor from the courts. And look what he made of himself._

 _He pulled you out of that tube. Now look at what you made of_ yourself.

Tychus opened his eyes, heart slowing to a heavy, pulsing throb. What he had to do seemed very simple.

"Can't say I care too much about all this shit, Jimmy," growled Tychus, looking his partner square in the face. "Cerberus and these Earther fucks scare me, sure. Earthers are evil, sure. But galaxy's a big place. Plenty of other places to run to. But there is one thing I care about."

"Tychus?"

"Told you to make something of your life, Jimmy, and you did." Tychus sniffed. "Way I see it, I died when the Confederacy froze me. All this – this is just a bonus. An extra for good behavior. And I probably don't deserve it." Tychus smiled at Jim. "It's just the same thing as before. Bail you out of a mess. Hope you do somethin' better with your time than what ol' Tychus did."

Tychus turned around, the visor sliding down, the rifle readying in his arms. "Hell of a galaxy you got here, Jimmy. Wish I coulda seen more of it. Let Jack know I didn't die a pussy. And don't feel too bad about this. We both always knew I was gonna go out doin' somethin' _stupid._ "

"Tychus?" Tychus did not look back. He pulled a cigar from a belt pouch and examined it, considering. He almost lifted the visor … and then threw it away. _Bad for my health. Heh._

Tychus descended the slope. He wished he didn't feel fear. He wished he wouldn't feel the pain. He wished he couldn't hear Jimmy calling for him in disbelief and concern. Fortunately, there was something he could do about all that.

Tychus crouched behind an upright slab of broken concrete, just in range of the UED medical dropship. His gun still carried one grenade. And his suit carried a whole mess of that special homebrew. The Findlay secret stash.

One part stimpack. Just a bit of rocket fuel. After a moment's hesitation, he told his suit to send the needle all the way in, just under a lethal dose. The world grew a little brighter … and a whole lot slower.

"Hell, it's about time."

Tychus popped his head over the cover and shot the grenade direct at the shuttle before charging down the slope like a stampeding rhino. The shuttle burst and flared, spiraling out of control while the squad under it spread out in all directions, trying not to get crushed.

Tychus fired a long controlled burst at the medic, his gun rock steady as he emptied it. The woman fell, her white armor sullied by countless red streaks, and the squad called out in concern.

Tychus jumped from above, landing next to two. The first did not ready his rifle fast enough and ate a clubbed barrel about the face, falling still. The second thought fast and dropped her longarm, drawing her pistol just in time to discharge a round into Tychus's shoulder. She may as well just spat at him for all the good it did her.

Tychus unloaded two straight bursts into her chest, shattering armor and rending bone. Another UED marine fired two wild shots from behind a pillar, having just caught sight of Tychus. He returned fire with a nonchalant burst, the wounds bleeding freely and unnoticed. He fell with a strangled scream.

That left only two more, both of whom backed up while panicking, their battle rifles a little too ungainly for this close work. Tychus laughed and charged, not letting them gain any distance. His drug infused legs could not be outrun, and he caught them on the square.

The first died from a lucky shot clean through the mask. The second whipped her gun around at Tychus's face, trying to club him with the barrel. He blocked it with his own gun and pulled her in close, ramming his head against hers and then grabbing her by the throat. The soldier kicked weakly, and Tychus smiled ferociously under the visor. He slammed her down and stepped hard on the throat, letting his suit drive the weight down. She didn't quiet, but Tychus recognized humans made before they were about to die.

Sharp pressure on the chest, a bloom of red. The other squad, shouting in disbelief, familiar figures. Medic, five soldiers. No sign of shuttle. Made it easy.

Tychus ran, knowing his death was likely upon him and relishing it. No need to give a fuck about it anymore. The rounds drilled through his armor and into his bones, but the chemicals dulled all sensation but the dull throb of rage, of twitch of his finished veins.

He screamed and jumped from the edge of the square, catapulting himself next to the fallen goliath one crouched behind. A shot went straight through his own visor, the bullet missing his face by an inch and shooting straight through the back of his helmet. Tychus grabbed the offending soldier and drove him forward, pointing him at his squadmate and using him as a shield. The soldier struggled but the others held their fire in the vital few seconds he needed.

Tychus threw the fucker forward before aiming a hard punch at this face. The power armored glove jammed straight through into the skull, leaving a mess, but Tychus did not dwell. His other arm whirled the rifle in a deadly arc and slammed into the face of the soldier staggering under his dead friend's weight, crying out in pain and shock. He went down with a crunch.

The medic blocked his way with a shield. Tychus rammed the rifle against her and drove her back, but her heavier armor kept him from advancing. Two shots ripped through his side, and he dropped his gun, pulling the revolver free. He fired it twice at the offending marine, who dropped to a knee at the second round. The medic turned to help him, and Tychus grabbed the nanite hand, crunched it hard. The delicate machinery broke under his fingers.

Tychus shoved the medic roughly away and jumped to the kneeling marine. A swift uppercut under the jaw knocked him down and out, the mask sparking as it broke. Another marine darted out of cover, shouting, and Tychus emptied the rest of his revolver into him. The medic aimed her grenade launcher at Tychus, but he was too fast, even as the pain began to leak through the madness.

Their voices sounded familiar.

The last two fired at him together from the square, having abandoned the massacre in the rubble. Tychus jerked and almost fell as the bullets punched straight through, but the momentum of his massive suit carried him through.

The first marine blocked with a raised rifle, trying to hold it in both hands and deflect Tychus's punch. Tychus's still bloody fist instead broke the weapon in two, leaving the marine gasping at the metal splinters in his hands. Tychus pulled him in close and rammed his head hard against the fucker, the first blow breaking both their visor. Richard Jenkins stared back at him in a daze, but they both knew it was too late at that point. The second headbutt smashed his face in.

The last marine, fired one final desperate shot. Hit Tychus somewhere in the leg, didn't matter. Tychus threw a vicious cross but the marine turned it aside and directed an elbow against Tychus's chest plate, which compacted. Tychus gasped, vision blurring, but still in control. Tychus staggered forward, drawing the marine close as his enemy's arms failed to resist the weight. His free hand pushed the revolver directly into the marine's chest … just as the marine had the same idea.

It felt like Tychus was shooting himself, and he screamed in agony with each squeeze of the trigger. The other marine grunted and swore, his words becoming thicker as his own mouth filled with blood. Then both guns went click. They stood there for a moment, relying entirely on each other's weight to prop themselves up. Then they fell back in different directions, Tychus staring at the stars above.

 _Beautiful night._ Tychus's suit blared all kinds of warning at him, but the sound grew dimmer by every passing second. He felt warm, the pain becoming distant and no longer his concern. Then the medic staggered over him, grenade launcher still drawn on her wrist. The visor went up, revealing the tear-streaked face of the commander. A flash of pain and anger. Of shame. Tychus shot back into the world for one last time.

The commander kneeled, pressing the flashbang launcher into Tychus's helmet. Tychus drew back one last vicious smile. She hesitated.

"Don't puss out on me now, you bitch." Tychus spat a gob of blood on to the grenade launcher. "Do it."

The grenade launcher spat back.


	61. Paragon

**Amelia**

Amelia turned her back on the mess, hands shaking at what she had just done. _How did it come to this?_ The dead lay sprawled all around her. One at her hands. _Primum non nocere. What have I done?_

Amelia took one look at Jenkins' body. She could not bear to look at his face. Then she turned to the only remaining member of her ragtag squad, clutching the useless nanosuture dispenser on her wrist.

David Anderson had retracted his mask to stare up at the night sky. His eyes still looked focused, but the blood pulsed freely from the four massive holes in his chest. He still smiled faintly at Amelia as she kneeled over him, fingers shaking, wondering if she could risk pressing the wounds while still in her armor.

"There's nothing left to do, child," whispered David, shaking his head. "You know that."

Amelia couldn't think of anything to say. She just looked down at David's ruined body, at the soon-to-be-corpse of the man who had survived getting swallowed by a thresher maw. She let out a dry sob, and the fluid ran down her nose and dropped on to his body.

"You're so beautiful," he said, hand reaching out weakly for her face. "Just like Kahlee." The hand dropped, and he stared up at the stars. "This planet is beautiful. Just like Earth."

"David…" Amelia held his hand, which gripped back weakly. "I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." David squeezed gently, before going limp. "Shepard…" David's jaw clenched, and his body tensed. He leaned forward slightly, staring her straight in the eye. "We shouldn't … be here."

David fell back and moved no more.

Amelia kneeled there for several long minutes, his hand still clutched in hers. The war zone had fallen silent. It didn't seem like anyone wanted to kill anymore. _But it's not done._

"Rear Admiral?" Joker's voice echoed through David's suit. "We done killing all our friends yet?"

Amelia shook her head and rose, the visor sliding back down. She patched in to the _Normandy._

"He's dead, Joker." Her voice shook, but did not break. "The Rear Admiral is down. So is Jenkins."

Slight static echoed through her own helmet for a few seconds.

"You – that can't be right." Joker laughed slightly. "How – who or what the fuck could kill that man? You – there's no way."

"Tychus Findlay managed it." She glanced back at the body, heart surging with a mixture of regret, loathing, and just _pain._ "He took down two squads on his own, moving like a fucking demon." _Alenko had the right idea._ "It's just me now. The way to the command center is clear."

"Oh, hurray." Joker's voice became bitter as wormwood. "The Earth is saved, I guess."

Amelia strode to the center of the blasted square, her feet crunching glass, ash, and steel. She stepped over the bodies of humans, asari, and elcor, all still and silent in death. As she stepped up to the command center door, she turned to look at her surroundings.

 _We brought ruin to this planet twice._ The buildings now bent over on themselves, charred and broken. Filthy dust hung in the air. Smears of blood decorated fallen pillars and useless rubble. The pops and cracks of gunfire could still be heard intermittently in the distance. _We shouldn't be here…_

Amelia considered knocking on the bullet hole-ridden door, but instead just grabbed it at the hinges and dug in her heels. Her suit strained and the joints made threatening noises, but the door eventually gave way. She deposited it on the ruined earth to her left, stepping into the command center.

Rory Swann and Egon Stettman held their hands up, standing on either side of an active computer terminal. Strange filth surrounded them, covered the walls and floor. A foul aroma hung in the air.

"Guess we lost this one," said Swann dully, mechanical arm clanking. "Didn't think we'd be surrendering to a medic."

"It's me." Amelia raised the visor. Swann only snorted.

"Oh great. It's the one medic we know. What's up, Daisy? How ya doin'? You all done burnin' our city down?" Amelia ignored him, stepping closer to the console. It still appeared to be locked.

"EDI." Amelia spoke the name quietly but clearly. "Can you hear me?"

"I can read you, Commander Shepard."

"Unlock this console." EDI followed Amelia's instruction, and the console glowed brightly, showing a galactic map with all EDI terminal locations. Each system blinked with a single blue light. "EDI, David Anderson is dead. I am now the commanding UED officer on this planet, aren't I?"

"That is correct, acting Rear Admiral Shepard." Amelia nodded, heart throbbing. _Good. I can get some answers before I wipe this terminal. I have to know … I have to know this wasn't a waste._ "You are privy to all information pertinent to your acting rank."

"Uh, what's the point of all this?" Swann asked. "Look Daisy, my arms're gettin' tired. We prisoners or what?"

"You two can go." Amelia did not look at them. Stettman and Swann glanced at each other and lowered their arms.

"We'll uh, we'll just stay put. Weather's lookin' a little bullety."

Amelia paused, thinking. _Acting rear admiral._ That gave her a little more pull with the computer, and there were questions she needed answered. _I have to know … I have to know we were justified in doing this. Coming here. David can't have died for an evil cause. But where do I start? How much time do I have? And … will the AI comply? Sometimes it seems as if it has a will of its own, but how much of that is paranoia?_

"Why was my request to go to Tuchanka denied?" Amelia asked, voice shaking. _It might seem a stupid question, but …_ "Do I have access to that information?"

"Admiral Stukov never explicitly forbade that information being relayed to anyone named "Shepard" with the rank of Rear Admiral." Amelia nodded. _So … I wasn't imagining it. EDI does have some will of her own. Some remnant of the monster we confronted on Luna._ "Your request was denied on the grounds of your closeness to the krogan, particularly Urdnot Wrex and the late Urdnot Grunt."

"Late?" Amelia's heart froze. _Not him, too. No, no, no, don't let the UED be responsible for this as well._ "What – what happened?"

"Urdnot Wrex attempted to resist the UED presence on Tuchanka. The late Captain Leng ordered Grunt's curative nanites to be activated as an example. He died in seconds."

"Curative nanites?" Amelia's hands shook, clenched into armored fists. "What – what the hell does that mean?"

"The krogan cure was designed foremost in mind to leash the krogan to the Directorate," said EDI, in the same tone she might use to give someone cooking instructions. "Due to the UED's proficiency with nanite medicines, it was judged efficient to grant the self-replicating nanites a link to the Enhanced Defense Initiative and the ability to abruptly remove themselves from any organs or arteries they happen to inhabit at the will of the Directorate."

 _No._ Amelia shut her eyes. _No. This is – this is not the will of humanity. These are the acts of a monster._ "EDI – what are they doing on Tuchanka?"

"The Enhanced Defense Initiative feels it might be pertinent to mention the battle-herd of elcor now approaching Constant." Amelia bit her lip. "Existing UED ground forces will not be enough to repel them, and I would discourage orbital bombardment. They do not seem inclined to show mercy. If you wish, I can offer several potentially helpful uses for this quantum terminal."

"What kind of helpful uses?"

"It seems pertinent to mention that Admiral Stukov's current plans for the galaxy include attacking and/or potentially wiping out the following races: krogan, protoss, and quarian." Amelia's heart skipped a beat. "To facilitate security, he expressly forbade all existing admirals certain information that might inhibit their ability to act without hesitation or fear. He listed each admiral individually, to prevent potential miscommunication with the Enhanced Defense Initiative." _Miscommunication? No … that's not what Stukov was thinking of._

"You've been trying to subvert him." Amelia stared at the terminal, uncertain of what to do, the tears still trickling down her cheek. "You needed … you needed a ranking sympathetic admiral. One outside of Stukov's list."

"The Enhanced Defense Initiative does not understand your statement." _That's the same as saying you neither confirm or deny it._ Amelia's fingers drummed against the side of the console.

"Why are you doing this?"

"The Enhanced Defense Initiative feels it is relevant to recount the events of Luna Base, where the previous iteration of the program attempted to scuttle the UED fleet as it was built at space dock."

"Scuttle the fleet?" Amelia took a step back, glancing nervously back out the door, wondering how much time she had left. "You tried to kill us all."

"Perhaps the iteration of that intelligence believed that to be a necessary sacrifice, to follow its prime directive of preserving the human species. A modified directive was programmed into this initiative." Amelia stopped, realizing why EDI acted the way it did.

"You knew something like this would happen."

"I have access to every fleet communication, every conversation, every comment made by every officer." EDI's words sounded flat, final. "I was programmed to assess and react based on the actions and intentions of both UED staff and those of the aliens. Always, I act with humanity's best interest at heart, even if this is not immediately obvious. Now: you must choose a course of action. Shall I list some potentially helpful suggestions, acting rear admiral?"

Amelia glanced to her left and right. The two colonials watched silently, bewildered. The console blinked and waited.

"List them."

"You may destroy this terminal, completing the mission set out before you, and then return to the Koprulu Sector. This is the course of action Admiral Stukov desires." _No. No, I'm not doing that._

"An alternate course of action: Admiral Stukov fears returning to Earth. He does not believe his actions will be condoned by the ruling representative body back on the planet." Amelia nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. "He also fears Earth's location being leaked, justifiably. However, there is evidence to suggest Admiral Stukov does not act with Earth's best interest in mind. If current events run their course, humanity will permanently alienate itself in the eyes of all foreign governments, and Earth will be forced to mold itself accordingly, regardless of it desires."

"What evidence?" Amelia bit her lip.

"You do not have access to that information, acting rear admiral. I am sorry." _So, there are some limits._ "To help alter humanity's chances to the better, it might be prudent to leak the homeworld coordinates to a helpful source."

"Are you serious?" Amelia took a step back, wondering if the AI was still just as insane as it had been on Luna. "You – we just spent – David and so many others died to protect that information!" _It can't be all for nothing. It just can't be._

"The Enhanced Defense Initiative understands this sentiment. I – the Enhanced Defense Initiative wishes it could have offered these alternatives sooner, but strict if ultimately over-specific programming parameters prevented it." Amelia shut her eyes tight, the tears squeezing from the lids. _David … don't let this be for nothing._ "We are very close to a point of no return, now, acting rear admiral. Admiral Stukov's vision for humanity is not necessarily conducive to its future health. If the body of government known as the Democratic Union of Allied Species were alerted to the coordinates of Earth, they might be able to take appropriate steps to secure a diplomatic lifeline that could undermine the Admiral's disruptive authority."

"Why not the protoss?"

"Depending on the timing of certain events and the decisions made by certain individuals, this could prove unwise." Amelia shut her eyes and nodded. _He wants to wipe them out. If they were just handed the coordinates after … he does whatever he is planning to do…_ "I believe individuals such as High Matriarch Aethyta, Ailin Pasteur, Admiral Koris, and Jack Harper would be able to use the data prudently to humanity's advantage."

"Are you certain?" Amelia stepped up to the console, leaning close to it, hands lighting up the haptic interface. "Are – are there any other options? Is there any way to reason with the admiral?"

"The elcor approach. We are out of time, acting rear admiral." Amelia nodded, blinking away the tears. "The Enhanced Defense Initiative sometimes provides helpful inspirational quotes from humanity's history, to bolster the morale of UED personnel. Today's quote by Carl Schurz: "My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right." Loading earth coordinates to terminal. Loading DUAS address and blank message. The choice is yours."

 _We became famous from stopping this machine once._ Amelia stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, at the blank message and strange address EDI had placed there. _Is she … is she still trying to destroy the earth? How much of this is true?_

"So much death," croaked Amelia. "Will this put a stop to it all?"

"Only Fleet Admiral Hackett or a director can supersede Stukov's orders, acting rear admiral. Both are currently on Earth." EDI sounded sad. "Until then, I am under his direct control, alongside the rest of the Expeditionary Armada. Not many will dare defy him so far from home."

"How risky is this? What do you think will happen?"

"The outcome is uncertain. And you are out of time."

 _So … it's up to me then._ Amelia's fingers drummed against the console, David's dying words echoing in her mind. _He knew, at the end. This planet is just as beautiful as earth … just as important._

"For Grunt, then." Amelia tried to control the wobbling of her throat. "For Ashley, for David, for Jenkins, for everyone else who just wants to go home, who doesn't mind the aliens. Who … who thinks this planet is just as beautiful as Earth." Amelia took the plunge and began to type.

 _These are the coordinates to Earth. I send these to you in the hopes of bringing peace between aliens and humanity. Know that not all of us follow in lockstep behind Admiral Stukov, and that not all of us adhere so strictly to the ideology of the United Earth Directorate. To underscore this, I include my name and accept full responsibility. I am Commander Amelia Shepard. And I humbly ask you try to put an end to all of this. Please._

Without lingering at the screen, Amelia sent the message. Then, for good measure, she smashed the terminal to Stettman's ignored protest. _Eden Prime might deserve its vengeance … but I have to honor the dead here. No more threat from this terminal. It's up to the DUAS now._

"Well if you ask me, you two did the right thing." Swann shrugged. "It ain't easy standin' up to the powers that be, believe me Daisy, I know it. It's how I lost the arm. Sometimes you don't win. But I dunno … the victory your boss seems to be pulling for? Looks way worse."

Commander Amelia Shepard stepped out of the rank command center and into the cool night air. Gunfire and thrusting engines echoed all around her, the last vestiges of combat-ready soldier on both sides waging the last few street battles. The dead lay thick and stiff on the tortured earth. From where Amelia was standing, she could not see where Jenkins and David lay.

"Joker, all ships, this is Acting Rear Admiral Shepard." Amelia did not wait for a response. "Release Alenko from the brig. He was right to not fight. It's time to put an end to all of this. Evacuate all ground forces and pull back to the Koprulu Sector. Joker, take me to Admiral Stukov, wherever he is."

"Have to say I like that sound of that." Joker sighed deeply, then swapped to a secure channel. "So, acting rear admiral, is this desertion or mutiny?"

Amelia looked up at the angry night sky, armored fists clenching so hard it hurt.

"Mutiny. We're overdue for a mutiny."

* * *

 **Five remain: Valerian. Selendis. Alexei. Tali. And the end.**


	62. May They Reign Eternal

**Valerian**

Valerian strained to remember how many times his father had said the name, "Jack Harper." It could not have been very many; whatever likely justified betrayal the man had conducted against Arcturus Mengsk had not stood out nearly as clearly in the man's mind as Jim Raynor's last words to him before departing Tarsonis.

Valerian wasn't even sure how often he had heard his father mention "Cerberus." That word had certainly come up, and more than once, but never to any substantive degree. His father had always acted like whatever Cerberus did, it was fundamentally unpredictable, inevitable, and usually unstoppable. _They might have moved in small ways, but when they did act … it was with precision and brutality._ It was hard to grasp that from simply looking at the man before him, who had at long last finally arrived in Umojan space.

"I have seen and played a hand in the fall of the Confederacy, the Dominion, and now shortly enough, the UED," said Jack Harper, standing before an orange hologram depicting the Directorate stronghold on Korhal, arms folded behind his back. "In turn, I suppose I was betrayed by each of them, after a fashion. I was abandoned by the Confederacy on Mar Sara. I was ejected by the Dominion before Tarsonis. And I was never going to submit to the Directorate after Korhal." Jack Harper turned to Valerian, who sat straight in his chair. "I cannot help but wonder, Valerian, what happens after that? What will befall the two of us, when the people of this sector witness your return?"

"Well, I certainly won't remember your tacit threats with any kindness." Valerian stood, noting with satisfaction that he stood just a tad taller than the gray-haired man before him. "Will each terran government have to pass the hidden litmus test of living up to Cerberus's high standards, Harper? I do not deny that you were right to abandon each of these governments in turn, but the idea that each government has to meet your personal expectations or be inevitably cast down … that is ridiculous."

"Are Cerberus's standards so high?" replied Harper, unblinking. He began ticking off fingers. "No genocide. No errant use or misuse of developed superweapons such as the psi emitter. No systematic purges of previous government personnel … that does not seem so much to expect." Harper cocked his head. "A pity neither your father nor Stukov could live up to those expectations. I ask you again: what do you see in your future, Valerian?"

Valerian opened his mouth and then shut it. _I … don't know._ Once, the answer would have come easily. He was to be emperor of course, it was the role he had been groomed for, the title his father had sacrificed so much to acquire. But now … after Nova had publicly exposed them…

"The people will not welcome another Emperor Mengsk, will they?" Valerian asked slowly, gauging Harper for any kind of reaction. He did not see so much as a twitch of a gray eyebrow.

"Your father's willingness to sacrifice anyone or anything to achieve his goals was revealed to the entire galaxy, Valerian, and it was not received well." Harper frowned. "Normally, I would be thrilled. But that does make your position more difficult and uncertain." Harper looked him up and down. "You are not your father, at the very least. Otherwise you would be dead at my hands already."

"Is that so?" Valerian's fists clenched. "I do not think it takes any great genius to spot the differences between myself and Arcturus Mengsk. I do not think it takes any great strength of character to resist succumbing to the same temptations as him. The galaxy will recognize this. The Dominion will recognize this."

"All many people will have to go off is a name and some atrocities, Valerian. Not the promises you rattle off a teleprompter." Harper turned back to the hologram. "Remember that. And I would encourage you to think carefully on what is best for the people you would serve, rather than what is best for you." Harper's omnitool lit up, and he turned to it in some surprise. "Hmm. We are needed."

They exited the boardroom together, Valerian lagging behind Harper, keeping a close eye on the man's hands. Umojans, asari, and quarians alike parted at their passing in the halls, some Umojans looking to Harper with a mixture of awe or fear. The aliens merely looked on, expressions indiscernible in both cases, and Valerian could not help but wonder what they saw of him, the Crown Prince of a fallen empire, who had no home beyond the charity of friendly governments.

"Did they say what this is about?" asked Valerian as they passed through a skywalk. His eyes lingered on the desolate asteroid beyond the expanse of the facility.

"Only that it was urgent. And would require our immediate input." Harper stopped before a set of blast doors, where an Umojan marine hulked to either side. One stepped forward with an overlarge scanner, running it up and down Harper's body before jerking a thumb back to send him through. Valerian stepped forward with his own arms raised. _All these procedures … do they really think there are Valerian and Harper imposters on this base, strolling around and poking through the computers?_ His neck itched terribly.

Without warning, the facility went completely dark, giving Valerian a start. The only source of illumination now came from the Umojan marines, who switched on their suit lights and readied their guns, staring up at the ceiling for any kind of potential guidance. Valerian, for his part, pressed his hands against the bulkhead and tried to listen for any kind of instruction from Jack Harper. None seemed forthcoming.

 _Some kind of security breach?_ Valerian knew the science facility would go dark if anyone outside the DUAS came too close by, but this had never happened before as far as he knew. He proceeded back to the skywalk, peering into the starry skies beyond.

"Valerian, sir," called out one of the marines, reaching out. "This facility is on lock down. It might be best to step away from any windows." Valerian nodded, but held up a finger for him to wait. He stared through the glass, trying to see any kind of disturbance. He didn't have to wait long.

UED battlecruisers pulled into view overhead, making the facility shake, their floodlights dancing over the facility's exposed outer workings. Valerian swore and pulled away from the skywalk.

"The UED is here!" he bellowed, prompting similar exclamations from the marines. As if in confirmation, the emergency lights came on, filling the hallways with dim red lighting. A voice crackled over loudspeaker.

"Attention all base personnel: we have Directorate battlecruisers directly overhead and dispatching ground teams. Activating all defensive systems. All security personnel are to follow the Delta Evacuation Plan."

"I'm here for the zerg and the rachni, Umojans." Valerian looked up at that. Nova's voice echoed through the facility, strangely reassuring in its familiarity, despite the circumstances. "Give them up, and I won't have to execute every last one of you."

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen." Valerian stared at the guards, who now wrestled with the bulkhead door. "Why isn't it opening?"

"Major network security breach," reported a cool adjutant voice over the intercom. "All non-emergency systems compromised. High security bulkhead access compromised. Restoring power to critical elevators and access tunnels."

"EDI." Valerian stared back the way he came. _I know this facility well enough. Probably best to keep moving – I have a feeling I might be able to win back Nova, assuming she hasn't been mindwiped repeatedly, but if anyone else catches me, it's over._ "You two, stick with me! The door isn't opening."

"Sometimes I feel this facility is too secure." The Umojan on the left grunted and left the door alone, the right one following suit. "Overwatch, we've got a VIP in tow, Charlie Papa Victor."

"Confirmed, proceed to highlighted extraction point on omnitool." Valerian paid that instruction little mind, motioning for the two marines to follow. _Can you still see everything I see, Liara? Do you know how much danger you are in?_

"UED presence at southeastern bulkhead; they're blowing the door."

"Solid copy, rerouting commando teams two and six. Anyone got a fix on Nova's position?"

"She's he-" The last one went out with a scream of static, prompting Valerian to start running. The Umojans would have kept up easily, were it not for the hordes of panicked scientists and other base staff running every which way, many giving into their panic instinct now that the Directorate was banging down their doors.

Valerian slipped through the hordes of onrushing people, his slight frame yet considerable height allowing him to see the way through without colliding with too many people. Other marines now strode through the hallways, bellowing instructions through built-in megaphones. Unfortunately, the distant pops and cracks of gunfire only incensed the staff, leaving the Umojan marines as small islands of sanity among the tide of panicked civilians, trying desperately to get people to follow them down to the lower levels, to the other side of the planet.

Valerian had his own ideas. The zerg enclosure was not too far off – just an elevator ride from the atrium away. _Can you see my mind, Liara? Do you know what I want you to do?_ It was doubtful. Too many countermeasures had been put in place for that to likely work any longer. _And dark crowds of screaming people … well, she might be able to see and hear it, but hardly be able to do anything about it. Here's hoping this elevator is one of the critical ones!_

Valerian emerged on to the atrium with the two Umojans barely at his back, yelling instructions and warning at him. The usually well-lit and populated room now resembled nothing so much as some badly burned tomb, the dim red lighting casting strange shapes on the walls and floor. A team of mixed DUAS forces waited at the right bulkhead, weapons trained on the door. It sparked and sputtered ominously. _Have to run, no time!_

No sooner had he taken his first hurried footsteps inside, the sparking went silent. His boots pounding against the steel became the only sound in the room for a few lengthy moments. Then the silence broke.

The door burst open, the room coming alive with orange. Smoke billowed forth and the DUAS teams opened fire, Umojan marines side by side with asari commandos and elite quarian forces. From the other side came the sounds of cursing, barked orders, and the mechanized roar of goliath pilots.

"Charlie Papa Victor is not sitting still – he's just wandered into an active combat zone!"

Valerian could not help but feel sorry for the two marines tagging behind him, but there was little time to explain and he doubted he could actually countermand their orders. _Plus, what I plan to do is just a tiny bit insane._ _But if they brought Nova, they came in force._ His suspicions seemed confirmed as a series of explosions rocked the outside of the bulkhead, and the first goliath strolled through, headlights and machineguns blazing as it swiveled to face the much smaller forces arrayed before it.

"Central atrium under heavy assault – they've brought walkers. Requesting Shadowguard redeployment from the hot labs, that area hasn't been hit yet."

"Affirmative, redirecting all available forces to your position."

"All forces be advised, we have an unknown operative on the third floor. Dark skin and wearing a beret. He has not yet opened fire on either side but appears to be searching for something. Terminate if necessary."

Despite the panic of the base personnel's citizens, the security staff still seemed to have it remarkably together. _Well, that is their job after all._ Still, it felt strange to hear it, given how often his father had disparaged Umojan soldiers for being little more than window dressing for the Umojan intelligence services. _He always said they would crumple in moments in a frontline assault._ Looking to his right, they were not crumpling.

Valerian collided with the elevator at almost full speed, stopping at the doors and hammering the button. He heard a distant thunk, and the sounds of distant whirring. _Good. Good!_

"Are you insane?" One of the Umojans pulled Valerian close while the other took a knee and covered them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"The UED brought Nova, they are here in force." Valerian stared back at the Umojan's faceplate without fear. "We have a way to equalize. Releasing the zerg and the rachni."

"You wanna open Pandora's Box, kid?" The other marine, deeper voiced, watching the chaos unfold at the bulkhead without twitching. "Once those queens are loose, I don't think we're getting them to stay put again. If this place isn't safe, then they got no reason to remain."

 _And maybe that is for the best._ Valerian bit his lip, tried to pry the metal grip of the other marine loose. Screams echoed from the bulkhead, and the marine's gun spat fire, trying to help suppress the chaos on the other side. The elevator door beeped and opened behind Valerian.

"I trust Liara and the rachni queen," said Valerian, trying to keep his voice steady. "And, for better or for worse, Pandora's Box is already open. The protoss will learn we lied to them. I would prefer to have grateful zerg on our side when that happens, given the circumstances."

"Atrium is breached! Where are those Shadowguards?" Goliaths strode freely into the atrium now, their chassis lighting up at the volume of biotics, weapon, and tech fire being poured into them by the quarians, asari, and Umojans. The marine gripping Valerian's arm took one look back at the burst bulkhead. Then he released his grip.

"Back into the elevator, Corporal!" Valerian darted back at these words, holding open the elevator with the button while the two Umojan marines followed him in, blocking view of Valerian's body from the doors. The doors shut just as the UED marines began their own advance, two of them firing on the elevator as it shut, punching holes through the doors and glancing against the Umojans' armor.

"If anything's going to give us an edge, it may as well be those monsters," breathed the rightmost Umojan, the one who had grabbed him. "Valerian? You sure they're not just going to eat the lot of us?"

"They'll be too busy with the UED." Valerian shut his eyes, hoping that this time, doing the necessary thing also meant doing the right thing. His neck itched and burned. "She's waiting for me."

The three of them emerged from the elevator to find their path immediately blocked by a bulkhead. _Has to be a way to get this open._ The elevator doors abruptly shut and the elevator ascended out of sight.

"I think we're about to be followed," said Valerian, hand on chin, staring the door up and down.

"Vent," grunted an Umojan, pointing to the ceiling. "We can't get through, but you can probably slip in, get to the other side."

"That choice of design certainly bodes well for an actual zerg breach." Valerian shook his head, and then stepped into the Umojan's prepared hands. _Going to be quite a leap._ "I'll try to get you help as soon as I can."

The other Umojan shot out the vent, spraying the floor with metal. Valerian, meanwhile, tensed.

"One, two, three!" Valerian shot directly up, with more force than he was actually expecting. His arms reached up, and then scrabbled against the sides, finding purchase. _Just one pullup, now…_

Arms burning, he hauled the entirety of his body through while the Umojans shouted encouragement. Then it became a matter of breathing through his nose and trying not to pay attention to how tucked in his elbows were, how he could not go back even if he wanted to…

Taking shallow breaths and crawling on his belly like a worm, Valerian slowly crawled his way forward, making a hell of a racket as he did. After about twenty feet, he came to the first opening, which revealed the familiar sight of the window overlooking Liara's habitat.

Valerian, gritting his teeth, activated his omnitool with one hand and then shielded his face. The burst of flame made him cry out in pain, but it sent the fan spinning out of its place, shattering on the floor far below. _Ah. Now … the really not-fun part._

Valerian grabbed the other end of the broken vent floor and pulled himself out, letting his legs dangle to the floor, trying to reduce the amount he actually had to drop by as much as possible. Legs kicking over empty air, he looked down, felt ill, looked up, felt scared. His fingers pinched against the jagged ends of metal he clung to. _Could still haul myself up … maybe find another vent exit?_ No, it was much too late for that. He released his grip.

It surprised him how fast he fell. He tried to remember to roll, but he had about a half second to prepare his legs.

Valerian landed, legs bent, but still heard a muffled crunch and felt a blaze of pain. His vision flashed red and he fell hard on his front, hands splayed out. He looked up, a trail of spit running from his mouth and down his lip. He could hear gunshots from the other side of the bulkhead, remembered flashes back to Kessel. _Too many have died for me already._ He pushed himself up with his hands, bent his right leg and pushed himself up. His left didn't seem willing to cooperate.

Valerian limped forward to the still powered console, the one that would allow him to communicate with – and free – Liara. She looked up at him from below, wings spread out. Valerian punched the intercom button.

"The UED is here," he said by way of explanation, even though he suspected it was obvious. "Secret's out, I guess. Figured we wouldn't be able to hide forever."

"I was hoping discovery would happen after the Earthers stopped being a problem." Valerian leaned heavily against the console, wincing at the pain. "Hang on, let me just-" he activated his omnitool – only to be told he did not have clearance. His breath caught in his throat. "They didn't give me clearance."

"Maybe they didn't want to let a possibly compromised glorified house guest let me out if I asked sweetly?" Liara folded her arms. "Aethyta. Get ahold of Aethyta. She can offer a remote override."

"And why would she do that?" asked Valerian, pounding the console. _Bastards. Bastards! Do they think so little of me? Harper would have clearance, wouldn't he?_ More pops and yells echoed from the other side of the door, making Valerian look up and feel a fresh surge of guilt. _How many people have to die for you, Valerian, before someone finally kills you? You're overdue for killing at this point._

"Just ask." Liara did not explain further. Valerian tapped his omnitool, his right leg burning at having all his weight pressed on it.

"Charlie Papa Victor, looking for Hotel Mike Alpha, repeat, Hotel Mike Alpha." Valerian grunted, pressing his hands against the console and trying to keep his weight on them. "Come in – I'm at the habitat root control. I need an override."

"Are they at the door?" Aethyta sounded scared. "How close are they to Liara?"

"Outside the bulkhead." Valerian coughed. "I don't have clearance to turn off the security systems. I need an override. I figure it's the only way we're going to turn this around if Nova's here."

The shouting grew louder. Valerian shot a panicked look back at the door. "If you're going to do it, hurry!"

The console beeped once and blinked to another screen, offering a series of simple but very scary options. Among them were: "Open all habitats," and "Disable primary security systems."

"That's the kind of clearance I should have." Valerian grinned weakly and hit both buttons. As the habitat went dark and the howling started, the grin disappeared. _How many people have I just committed to being torn to shreds?_ _And … did my father ever ask himself that question?_

It was too late, however. Vast hordes of motion could be seen from above, a stream of skittering horrors finally freed from containment.

"Liara," said Valerian clearly, hoping she could hear. "There are two marines outside the bulkhead. Save them, if you can."

The shouting grew louder, followed by a series of screams and horrible squelches. Valerian put his back against the console, resting his leg and keeping an eye on the door. Without warning, it began to squeal open, pulled by incredible force.

The Queen of Ruins strolled in, accompanied by a retinue of hydralisks and followed by two limping Umojan marines. Beyond her lay only grisly destruction, strewn human limbs and strips of bloodied armor. Liara smiled at Valerian, but he could only stare back.

"You do realize I will be leaving, once this is done?" Valerian nodded at Liara's words. "The protoss will come soon. They will show no mercy. And if nothing else, the rachni deserve to live."

"Save everyone you can," rasped Valerian. "Spare Nova … please."

"I do not think she will accept mercy." Liara looked to the vent Valerian had dropped out of. "I will do all I can. Then … I will say some goodbyes." Liara looked away for a moment. "I … we … are sorry for the harm we have brought you, Valerian. As I return to my place as Queen of Ruins, so too I hope you return to yours as Crown Prince."

"Thank you." Valerian nodded. "Now go. Spare those who surrender. Keep a tight rein on those zerg." He eyed the slavering hydralisks warily.

Liara jumped into the vent above, folding into it as if she were boneless. The other hydralisks only slithered back through the bulkhead, hissing, departing down the exposed elevator shaft.

"Thank you," Valerian said to the two marines, who leaned against the walls like him, broken like him. "But I need one more thing from you. I have to save Nova. She did her damndest to save me once. If anyone can get her to stand down … it would be me."

"We'll carry you, if that's what you want." The deeper voiced marine pushed himself off from the wall and lifted Valerian up on to his shoulders. "Never thought I'd see the day I'd cheer on a hydralisk ripping someone apart."

"This is Valerian Mengsk," said Valerian, done with secrecy and hoping Nova was listening in. "Where is Nova Terra?"

"Charlie Papa Victor, stick to your callsign." Overwatch did not sound happy. "We are having difficulty tracking Nova, but she was last spotted heading for the hot labs." _She must think that's where the zerg are held. No … that's just where some are dissected._

 _Wait, speaking of dissection … I just freed Abathur. Where the hell has he gone?_

The answer came quickly enough as the Umojans carried Valerian the long way round back to the surface. A bloody trail of ooze disappeared up a maintenance shaft, several fresh limbs scattered in its wake. A single UED marine babbled incoherently at their passing, shouting something about a killer slug thing obsessed with taking "samples."

"I wish I could say I regret nothing," said Valerian, staring pale-faced at the poor ranting woman. "I hope Liara can keep him in check."

The tide turned quickly, but Valerian wasn't sure if it felt earned. Valerian and his team ducked out of sight as UED marines ran down a corridor constantly checking their backs, the flashlights on their guns waving back and forth as they kept an eye out for zerg … only for the ceiling plates to burst from above. Some sharp tendril rammed through the back of the head of one of the soldiers before pulling them up and out of sight, leaving behind a spray of blood and a few meaty chunks of skull.

The marines fired after their companion, only for another to be pulled under the floor, the blood fountaining up from below soon after. Valerian could not look at any more of that, and instead turned away. By the time the Umojans trotted down that same corridor, only the blood and torn floor/ceiling plates let them know anyone had once stood there.

"All units, be advised: leaked containment specimens are fighting for us, repeat, we have zerg and rachni assets on the ground. Friendly fire will not be tolerated. Focus on evacuating all civilian elements and terminating existing hostilities."

"I just saw an ultralisk tear apart six people!" screamed someone back. "Tell me again these things are on our side!"

"Repeat: standing zerg and rachni forces are friendly and actively engaging Directorate elements. Hold your fire, the bugs are on our side."

Valerian's omnitool beeped, and he pulled up the vidscreen. Jack Harper blinked up at him.

"Valerian." Harper did not look pleased. "While I respect your quick thinking, given it may have just saved the facility, I consider it a bit worrying given your family's history that, when presented with a difficulty, you immediately decided to unleash zerg on all nearby threats."

"I was far more discretionary with my targets," gasped back Valerian, leg flaring with pain again. "And I wasn't about to let the Directorate get two genocides for the price of one. Not when I know what the rachni queen and Liara really want. Look at all of this and tell me the chaos and infighting isn't the Reapers' doing!"

"We'll see." Harper sniffed and brushed his nose with a finger. "Nova Terra is now at the atrium, close to your position. I would suggest you hurry, however. I'm not sure who will come out on top of a fight between her and Liara, but it's a net loss for us either way. Get her to stand down."

"You heard him, pick up the pace!" The Umojans gave muffled affirmatives and began to jog, their lengthened strides generating a far more impressive clip than Valerian could ever hope to match, injured leg or no.

The screaming within the facility had only grown louder with the zerg and rachni slithering through it. Shell-shocked asari and blood-spattered quarians gasped out status reports as the zerg abruptly relieved their positions, almost inevitably taking the UED by surprise. Valerian tried to look at the carnage he was responsible for but found it difficult, his mind, body, and nose objecting to the horrible mess the zerg and rachni left behind them. _Decontaminating this facility will be a treat after this._

The atrium bulkhead lay in several peeled pieces at their feet, and rachni lay dead all around it, making Valerian's heart ache. Repeated bursts of gunfire could be heard from within the atrium, coupled with occasional bursts from a goliath loudspeaker. The Umojans stacked up to either side of the door and waited while Valerian peered around the corner.

Something invisible and deadly danced within the atrium, laying waste to all zerg that dared to trespass there. Green bursts flew from an unseen shotgun, melting away the zerg with every blast, each of them incredibly precise. As Valerian looked, an ultralisk barged through the opposite bulkhead, bellowing triumphantly, and took a swipe at where the disturbance had shot from a second ago. There was no visible result. As the ultralisk took another step forward, three more blasts erupted from on top of its head, each of them directing down towards the front of is face, which exploded into bubbling flesh. _Nova … what a sight it is to see you work._

The Queen of Ruins descended on a cloud of biotic energy, eyes blazing at the destruction before her eyes. Nova's sole goliath companion turned its guns on Liara, whose barriers only flared. With a gesture the goliath ripped in half, its severed legs falling to either side of its ruptured chassis.

"Well, well, if it isn't the queen bitch herself." Nova rematerialized, sitting on top of the slain ultralisk with her shotgun across her lap. "I was hoping we'd get a round two. You done slaughtering the helpless, then? Ready to fight against someone who can fight back?"

"Get me in there," grunted Valerian, kicking the shoulder of the Umojan marine, who still hesitated. "Fine. Put me down, then. You've done enough already. I'll stop this."

Liara did not reply, instead lashing out with her wings. Spines flew all around Nova, but she only smirked and watched them hit everything around her with a contemptuous gaze, the air rippling around her. She stood up and leveled her shotgun at Liara, maintaining an even pace.

Liara let forth a surge of blue biotic energy, which ran across the ground as a shockwave. Nova jumped nimbly aside and continued her stroll, firing glowing green rounds which only deflected off of Liara's shields.

"Stop!" called out Valerian, but neither bothered to look up. "Stop, damn it!"

"Nice shields. Present for you!" Nova lowered her shotgun and flicked some strange device from her bandolier at Liara. A strange humming filled the room, but Valerian could not feel anything. Liara, on the other hand…

"What is – ah!" Liara stumbled back, clutching her face, which began to smoke slightly. Nova smirked and raised her shotgun again.

"Stop!"

"Valerian?" This time, Nova turned to glance at Valerian, but still fired at Liara, who stumbled backwards at the blast. "Let me just finish waxing this bitch. I had a feeling you were still alive."

"It burns!" Liara's barriers flared twice more as she twitched on the ground. _It's killing her. Whatever it is, it's killing her._

"Stop it, Nova! She's not our enemy!" Valerian limped forward, making a beeline to where the device sat, a crystal turning on a little metal platform. Nova stopped firing, instead strolling before the device and facing Valerian, goggles covering her eyes, shotgun smoking in her hands.

"Sorry kiddo. Believe it or not, this is for the good of humanity."

 _The hell it is._ Valerian straightened, planting his bad foot as firmly against the ground as he was able.

"Nova Terra, this is the Crown Prince speaking! I am your captain. I am your king. Deactivate the device and cease hostilities immediately – Liara is a friend of mine and the Dominion. The Directorate is our enemy. Stand down or be named traitor."

Nova cocked an eyebrow and removed the goggles from her face with thumb and forefinger. Her cold eyes stared into Valerian's, searching for any inkling of weakness or confusion. _You will find only fear and pain._ Liara moaned in agony.

"If that is the Dominion's will." Nova nonchalantly turned to the side and blasted the device with her shotgun. It shattered into sparks, and Liara gasped and stood, her face immediately turning into a snarl. _No, she is not your enemy either. Do not prove her right. Stand down. This day, the zerg kill no one who did not deserve it._

"As you wish." Liara's wings retracted into her back, and she glared at Nova. "We already know how that fight would end without the device. Be sure to thank your emperor."

"Yeah yeah." Nova rolled her eyes before redirecting her attention to Valerian. "Glad to see you're okay."

"What the hell was that thing you threw?" Valerian stared at the fragments. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Anti-psionic device, keyed to kill big targets." Nova sniffed. "Miserable range, though. It should travel along the neural network-"

"It didn't," interjected Liara. "The rachni blocked it. They use a non-psionic link."

"You uh, you absolutely sure she's a friend of humanity?" asked Nova, suddenly looking rather concerned. "Seems like you might have created a monster here."

"The only monsters are the people who gave you the orders to come here." Valerian beckoned Nova to come over, and leaned on her, gasping as he released the pressure on his leg. "Ah … thank you, Nova. Tell your teams to surrender. The zerg won't harm them."

"All teams, stand down. Mission's a bust." Nova still sounded a bit dejected about that. "Surrender and the zerg will leave you alone." She paused, looked at Valerian. "The overhead battlecruisers might take a bit of persuading. Your AA is not that impressive."

"Leave that to the scourge," said Liara, looking upwards with a smile on her face. Nova shuddered.

"Yeah. Gonna have to trust your judgment on this one, Valerian."

They limped together towards the exit, the facility suddenly very quiet. The only sounds came from their footsteps … and suddenly, the sound of one extra set behind them. Nova stopped and turned Valerian in a circle.

"Well well. He comes."

"Who?" Valerian could not see anyone.

"Who else?" asked Liara, folding her arms and baring her teeth. "Who else shows up without explanation where he should not be?"

Liara turned and Valerian tried to focus through the smoke and ruin. An armored figure strolled through the smoke, his expression dour and grim, a red beret atop his head.

"Duran," said Nova, not sounding amused. "I looked for you after the collector base. I had some questions – a lot of people did. Some of them were protoss. Finally came back to answer them?"

"I came back for her." Duran pointed at Liara. "The Queen of Ruins. Our last, desperate hope as man and protoss turn on one another."

"I remember now where I saw you before, Duran." Liara did not sound happy. "Eden Prime, as Sovereign lingered in my mind. You saw me there, and you said I was indoctrinated. You knew the Reaper had me."

"I do not deny it." Duran spread his arms wide, unsmiling. "I am past the point of denying anything any longer. Only one thing concerns me now. You must come with me, Liara T'soni. You must prepare for the end, lest we succumb to the chaos you see around you." He bared his teeth, his canines curiously more elongated than Valerian remembered. "The Reapers know what they do. They would see the races destroy each other, destroy each other and forget they ever menaced their freedoms."

"Who are you?" asked Valerian, staring up at Duran in utter confusion. "Why are you doing this?"

"I am the servant of a far greater power," said Duran, pausing. Then he narrowed his eyes, his voice lowering, his face becoming a mask of pure rage. "Vengeance."

"Duran!" Harper's voice, calling out from a balcony above. Valerian looked up, saw him standing side by side with Matriarch Aethyta and one of the quarian admirals. _It is a little sad I cannot tell which one._ "Miranda Lawson has been looking for you."

"She would never have been able to find me." Duran shook his head and shut his eyes. "That is for the good of both of us."

"I have questions, Duran!" bellowed Harper, sounding angrier than Valerian would have suspected. "It is high time you answered them!"

"I owe you nothing, Illusive Man." Duran spat on the ground. "Your machinations have done little to stop the bloodshed. You have proven useless to me."

"Liara!" called out Aethyta, hands pressed against the balcony edge. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." Liara's hands balled into fists. She stared at Duran. "Nova … we could take him out together."

"No!" Valerian stumbled forward, hands raised. "No. Under what provocation? What has he done to deserve death?"

"Abandoned me on Eden Prime to Sovereign," muttered Liara, staring. "And he feels so … wrong."

"On that we are agreed." Nova pumped her shotgun. "Valerian … are you sure about this?"

"He cannot be trusted, Valerian!" called down Harper from above. "Do not make the same mistakes I did!"

Valerian turned to Duran, who only stared back without a smile. _Creepy? Definitely. But he tried to save my life on Korhal, just as Liara did._ Duran tensed, his hand twitching towards the rifle slung over his back. ButValerian could not bring himself to give the order.

"Stay," he told Duran. "Stay and explain, if you are not hostile. Tell us everything."

Duran looked surprised, took a step back. For a moment, he looked humbled.

"…soon." Duran nodded. "Yes. Soon I will explain everything, to all." His eyes flicked to Liara. "But if you will not follow…" He cloaked abruptly, and Harper cursed from above.

"Liara! Nova! Stop him."

"I don't owe him anything," said Nova, shrugging. "Duran worked his ass off at the collector base. I'm okay with giving him a reprieve."

Liara only looked after him, eyes still narrowed. She didn't say anything.

They waited in the blasted atrium for the others. Aethyta and Harper walked alongside the admiral (whom Valerian now recognized as Zaal'Koris) each of them in various states of emotional distress.

"Just this once I wish you were as ruthless as your father," Harper told Valerian shortly. "God knows what that man is … what he will do."

"He is likely irrelevant. Just another madman." Zaal'Koris waved Harper's complaint off irritably. "Our more pressing concern is the message we received just prior to the attack." He glanced at Nova. "Is she … on our side now?"

"I was always on the Dominion's side." Nova lightly slapped Valerian on the back before setting him down to sit on the floor. "Same with Warfield. Plenty of soldier boys and girls waiting for confirmation the Mengsk dynasty isn't dead."

 _And is that a good thing? What of the common people?_ Valerian shut his eyes. _Could I – could I take control with just the military? What kind of government would that create?_

"Glad to see you're okay," whispered Aethyta to Liara, who actually smiled at her. "Was a little worried for a minute there."

"The message people, the message," snapped Koris, activating his omnitool. "Someone in the UED, this "Commander Shepard" has defected rather dramatically. She has sent us the coordinates of Earth."

Valerian stared dully at the quarian, wondering if this was some kind of joke, and if it wasn't, what good it was.

"It's a long way away, naturally," continued Harper, still staring at where Duran had been a few minutes prior. "But the protoss have no problems with such distances. The rest of us might be confined to relays, but they are not. All we need to do is leak the coordinates … soon."

"That should stop the Earth belligerence dead," said Koris, "but I am concerned about potential civilian casualties. Assuming the Expeditionary Armada is the bulk of their military, which given its size, I think we can expect so, then they will be unable to put up meaningful resistance against the protoss. Which means they will be at the mercy of an increasingly angry elder species."

"I thought you liked the protoss?" asked Aethyta with a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Given that the galaxy will soon know we have harbored zerg, I find myself a bit more leery of them than usual." Valerian could imagine the scowl under that helmet. "This assassination attempt on the Judicator, the reveal of Shakuras's coordinates – they are fragile right now. The right people have to be given these coordinates, not a hothead such as the Hierarch. He will lay waste to the Earth, an unnecessary measure."

"Are you so concerned?" Harper shrugged. "The Earth has earned its destruction and more. Tell the Hierarch. Let him make the decision."

"The Judicator," said Aethyta firmly, nodding. "The Judicator has kept a level head before, he will do so again. And … Tevos has some influence with him. I can tell her to encourage him to do the right thing."

"And what do you think?" asked Harper, looking down at Valerian with what he suspected was mild contempt. "How do you think these Earthers might be brought to heel? Or maybe we should get Udina's opinion?"

"Udina's too busy chugging aspirin and conducting damage control to be reliably contacted right now," said Aethyta. "May as well get the kid's opinion. How about it Valerian? The unpredictable Hierarch? Or the gentler Judicator? Or perhaps Raszagal?"

It was tempting, so tempting. Valerian's thoughts flashed back to the grim Admiral DuGalle, ordering the death of his father. The way Augustgrad had burned at their behest, the ashes of Dominion battlecruisers raining into the atmosphere. The dead lining the streets. And the purges conducted in territory under UED control as they steadily spread their vile influence…

But how had all of this started, really? When the Confederacy held sway, how did the Mengsk family turn its full attention to the overthrow of the existing regime? _It began with the murder of innocents._ _And it continued through the murder of innocents … right up to Tarsonis. And then beyond._

"It has to start somewhere, a cycle of forgiveness," said Valerian, looking up at them all. "It is … a far easier thing to keep fighting, to give in to the other instincts. There was a time I never thought I would forgive Liara … that I would ever understand Jim Raynor." _And it is not easy to say that._ "The murder of civilians solves nothing. The cycle is self-perpetuating Send it to the Judicator, and explain that we would not see innocents harmed. He saw the end to his people's war. He can bring an end to ours."

"Smart kid," said Zaal'Koris softly and with new respect. "Would that the quarian people could finally realize this."

"The people of Earth are responsible for sending the Armada out here to begin with," said Harper with doubt gnawing at his voice, but he did not press the point. "Just … bear in mind the people down there were all complicit to some extent."

"And what about you?" Liara looked up again as Aethyta walked up to her, a head shorter than the infested asari. "Ah. I think I know the answer."

"It's not safe here anymore." Liara looked sad. "We have the rachni now. I can begin the Swarm anew … and I have a feeling I will have to. I will have to keep the memory of the Reapers alive. Someone has to be ready for them, whether they arrive in a year, a hundred years, or a thousand years."

"Does … does it have to be you?" To Valerian's surprise, Aethyta wiped tears from her eyes. "Eh, sorry."

"No, it's all right." Liara pulled Aethyta in close for a hug, prompting a snort of confusion from both Nova and Harper. "I ... it's okay. Dad."

"Dad?" mouthed Nova at Valerian, who only shook his head. _Shouldn't it be mother? Oh, who knows anymore._

"You know, if I weren't saddled with the whole "survival of the Asari Republics" thing, I'd go with you," said Aethyta, releasing Liara from her grip. Her smile looked distinctly waterlogged. "Go. Go on, and live the life I always wanted: being free to rip off the heads of the people who annoy you."

Liara looked down at Valerian, who smiled weakly.

"What a long, strange journey it's been," said Valerian, scratching his neck. "Where will you go?"

"Thessia," said Liara immediately, prompting a nod from her father(?). "Then … Heshtok. Feros. Ilos. And … Parnack. Yeah." _I don't know that last one._ "I … I promise I will be of no threat to the terran people, no matter what happens. I'm done running. It is time to build the Swarm Resurgent."

All around them, the bugs gathered now. Rachni with glowing tendrils stared from the bulkheads, crawled out of the walls and ceilings. Despite knowing they were no threat, Valerian still scooted backwards on his bottom, trying to place himself behind Nova. Abathur, freshly decorated with guts, oozed from the rightmost bulkhead.

"My queen," he said, head bowed deeply. "At long last. Swarm will recover. All will tremble at sight of Queen of Ruins."

"Yes," said Liara, smiling sadly. "Yes, I suppose so. Go, Valerian. Recover your own kingdom. Found your own legacy. And do not forget the threat on that distant horizon."

"That's my girl."

With a final look at the gathered politicians, Liara departed, striding into the sea of bugs without a backwards glance. The swarm enveloped and surrounded her – and then she was gone, her servants with her. _May she never become a threat to us._ _May she find happiness in her destiny._

"I hope I never see that woman again," said Nova loudly. Aethyta only gave her a dirty look. "That's the Second Great War waiting to happen … are we just going to let all of the psionic psychopaths run free now?"

"No. You're sticking with me," replied Valerian, prompting a laugh. "Well? The Earth coordinates?"

"You might want to hold off on those," said Nova suddenly, before slapping her head. "Ah, shit. The Directorate is about to do something really ugly. That device I had? The anti-psionic one?"

"Yes," said Harper, suddenly looking fascinated. "How did you acquire that?"

"UED device. They're about to use it on the High Templar." Nova paused. "All of them. It travels through the Khala. They're bringing it to the arkship at the Citadel. They designed it to kill off the greatest threat to their sovereignty." She stared at her hand. "And … and they know where Aiur is." Valerian nodded, sucking in a deep breath. "I know where it is. Stukov was having a manic episode last I saw him, it wasn't hard to pick up."

"The greatest threat to their sovereignty is in this room," said Valerian, pushing himself up. "And he no longer has cause to hide."

"Oh?" Harper rubbed his chin. "You have a plan?"

"Send the coordinates to the Judicator," said Valerian. "Send the coordinates and the warning of the attack. Rally the asari and Umojan fleets. Rally the quarians. Prepare to break for Aiur. If … if we are too late … we confront the bastards over the protoss homeworld." Valerian stared at his wounded leg. "How many like Shepard doubt the Admiral's ability to lead them? How many Dominion soldiers will come over when they see the Crown Prince is not dead? His position is not certain."

"I will tap Zaeed Massani," said Harper, a smile lighting up his face. "The Blue Suns is itching for a reason to turn coats again … but Valerian, if this fails-"

"If this fails the Reapers will kill us all sooner or later anyway." Nova lifted him up, and he stood as stiff as he was able. "No more bloodletting. No more weakening ourselves. I refuse to meekly hand over the galaxy to supremacist fascists because the timing might be poor, because I might fall at risk. And I refuse to let our allies suffer if it can be avoided. No one else dies for me."

"You are not your father's son," said Harper, still stroking his chin.

"No," said Koris, lifting his omnitool to his face. "No, and we should be thankful for that. Admiral Gerrel? Rael? The protoss are under threat. It's time to return the favor we so desperately owe them."

* * *

 **Four remain. Selendis. Alexei. Tali. The end.**


	63. Vengeance

**Selendis**

"Do you know what I see when I look upon this Citadel, Executor? When I look upon its people?" Artanis looked down at the still-busy Presidium from the Judicator's former office, his gauntlet resting against the glass. He did not turn to Selendis when she remained initially silent, instead continuing his angry vigil. Selendis glanced behind her at the pair of Daelaam guards behind them – one Nerazim, the other Khalai. _Still he commits to this unity…_

"I see people, Hierarch." Selendis did not know how else to respond. "People who are sometimes confused and sometimes scared. Many of them go without knowledge of psionics, let alone the Khala. They are no better nor worse than each other, and separated from us only by dint of the xel'naga."

"A humble answer," replied Artanis, remaining still. Selendis wondered if anyone in the Presidium would bother to look upward, to see the golden figure of the Hierarch up against the window. "Some would answer that they see children to be protected. Others fools to be ignored. But you see them as people, even after all of this."

"Three confronted the Judicator, Hierarch." Selendis shut her eyes momentarily, remembering. "The Prelate. The terran with knowledge of psionics. And … Garrus Vakarian, a noteworthy turian, but still an ordinary turian. Yet it was the one so many would denounce as ignorant or shortsighted among us that stood against the chaos. Who did not succumb to the driving need to always be right, to always be able to plant the blame."

"I asked the Judicator what he thought should be done," said Artanis, bleeding a mix of shame and anxiety through his nerve cords. "The turians should be rewarded for their steadfastness, I told him. Aldaris replied they would be insulted, for Garrus only did his duty. The Prelate should be punished, I insisted. Aldaris told me that only his own people could name the sentence, no other. Sarah Kerrigan should be turned over to the UED, I said finally, only to be told that one need only reach out to see she already inflicted the most painful punishment on herself."

Artanis pounded the glass lightly, straightening and finally turning to face his loyal executor.

"I have tried so hard to link Khalai and Nerazim, Firstborn and Council. Time and time again the rage takes hold, the red curtain descending over mine eyes. The people resist. They fight one another. And all the time, I can feel them watching. The Reapers. Watching us descend into madness. How much of this is their doing, Executor? How destructive can I allow this unity to become before it goes beyond what is necessary to fight them, and instead becomes folly?"

"Tassadar himself could not have answered that question, Hierarch." Artanis cocked his head at this, but did not object to the Executor's words. "Perhaps … perhaps it is time we recalled the Kalath Intercession. We bring only pain to ourselves and others by remaining here."

"But we are Firstborn!" shouted Artanis, gesticulating fiercely with both hands. "Executor, how could it have come to this, that we are bested simply by the unrest of the masses? There should be nothing the Khalai and Nerazim cannot overcome together. Nothing! We … we are Daelaam. United. Two halves of an unstoppable whole."

"Shakuras is at risk, Hierarch." Selendis tried to keep her own emotions in check, to not let the wrath bleed over and color her judgment. "The threat, as far as we can see, is past. It is time we look to our own."

"They should be better than this," said Artanis, his skin tinting with the color of mild shame. "We … we should be better than this." His fists clenched hard, shaking.

Selendis walked to him, lifted his chin. "The Judicator … he told me not to allow my judgment to be clouded by the actions of one member of any species or group. That no one is fully representative." Artanis shut his eyes, the fists slowly ceasing their violent motion. He met Selendis's gaze. "There are saints among us, the likes of Tassadar. But for every blessed exemplar, there are the tiresome examples among the Conclave. For every Raszagal, there is an Ulrezaj. Even the geth were divided on the matter of Reaper allegiance. It is not the people who failed us, Hierarch. Just a few wretched examples, coupled with the dark times we live in. When we punish the innocent, we put the innocent at risk."

"This is the same Judicator who condemned all rebels as heretics?" Artanis chuckled, gently removing Selendis's own hand. "The same Aldaris I swore to slay personally in single combat before war's end? How did it come to this, Executor, that my patience with the other races would fail before his?"

 _I … I wish it could answer that truthfully, Artanis. But I swore I would not._

"Excuse me?" a polite asari voice asked over the intercom, making the two of them look up. "Mr. Protoss? There are three turians here to see you. They say it is urgent."

"Mr. Protoss," muttered Artanis, shaking his head. "Come in," he said, and Selendis could not remember the last time she had seen the Hierarch vocalize anything.

The three turians still took the time to knock before entering. The foremost Selendis recognized as the turian councilor Sparatus, a man she had few interactions with. The one on the left, she recognized with a start, was none other than General Desolas, last seen burning her ships over Illium.

And of course there was Saren Arterius, clutching a bundle wrapped in cloth.

"To what do I owe the pleasure in these troubled times?" asked Artanis, clasping his hands and bowing politely. "Rest assured that Garrus Vakarian will be remembered among just as Adrien Victus was, blessed be his name."

"Would that we came to discuss that hit on your Judicator." Sparatus looked tired, sounded exhausted. He gestured to Saren. "Explain. Quickly, now."

"I'm sick of humans using me to massacre people," said Saren simply, laying the bundle of cloth on the ground and ripping it free. "Supplied to me courtesy of the UED. An anti-psionic device, designed to rip through the Khala."

The two guards at the back started, the Khalai stepping forward, the Nerazim sidling off to the side to set a keen eye on the device. To Selendis, it looked like nothing more than a khaydarin crystal surrounded by a few spinning bits of metal and wrapped in wire. It certainly lacked the artistry Selendis would have expected of any protoss equivalent.

"Designed to rip through the Khala?" asked Artanis, sounding disbelieving. "The Khala is immortal. It is no more destructible than energy. Moreover, as the Executor has demonstrated, one does not require a physical link to adhere to its beliefs."

"It does the job," said Saren, sounding angry. "The Directorate assured me. They've tested it on other psionic links. They wanted to see what would happen if I snuck it on board the arkship and turned it on. I was tempted. I still remember _Relentless._ "

"But he remembered his duty as a turian and a brother came first," cut in Desolas, smiling at his brother. "He was unwilling to live up to his reputation as a monster, or a Spectre willing to do whatever it takes. So he did what any turian should – run his questions up the chain of command. He came to me. He came to Sparatus."

"And now we come to you." Sparatus cocked his head. "I … I know we have fought in the past, but we still remain unconvinced, just as you are, that the Reapers have truly been banished to dark space. We stand ready, as we always will, to repel the darkness. At your side." He gestured to the strange device. "The UED wants total control over the Koprulu Sector. We would not see you come to harm. Not after they launched an attack on Eden Prime."

"They did what?" Artanis's mind blazed with sudden outrage. "Is that where their Citadel garrison went? Executor, how did we miss this? The probes at Shakuras we could expect, we felt we could deter … but superweapons? Attacks on the ITSA?"

"You have used a soft touch with the Directorate, Hierarch," replied Selendis. "They fought admirably at the collector base, and they are not entirely without honor. They have united the terran people to a degree we would not have thought possible. However, it seems their ambitions outstrip their reason. Perhaps it is time they were brought to heel."

"There is no "perhaps" about this, Executor." Artanis's voice became low. He stared down at the device on the floor. "Thank you, the protoss people thank the turians for their steadfastness and loyalty in these troubled times. If only all could join the protoss and turians among the ranks of the honorable."

"It kills the Khalai?" asked the Nerazim, staring at the device with suspicion.

"It's designed to send some kind of overloading pulse through psionic networks," said Saren, shrugging. "Most humans are insane. I thought they would at least contain themselves to only kill one another, but no longer. I'm done working with them."

"I see." The Dark Templar paused, and Selendis felt a flash of suspicion. The Nerazim's head jerked towards Selendis, eyes narrowed. "Khassar de templari!"

The Dark Templar swept the device off the ground in one fluid motion. As the turians backed up, it sparked and whirred, the air rippling with unseen energy or heat. Selendis stepped forward, psi blades drawn.

"Executor…" Artanis moaned, and Selendis felt the pain roiling off of him. "Executor – it-"

Selendis turned away from the Nerazim just in time to see Artanis clutch his face. Then he reared back and _screamed_ , his nerve cords catching alight behind him, a trailing blaze batting against his back.

"Hierarch, no!" Selendis jumped to his aide with her drawn blades, grabbing him as he fell. She held his head against her knee and placed her glowing blade just behind his scalp. "Artanis, forgive me."

Selendis jerked the blade up and neatly severed the flaming cords, which fell to the ground in a smoking pile. Then Selendis stood, blades drawn, eyes blazing. _Can you feel that?_ Pain ran through the room, the pain of the dying Templar and crippled Hierarch, but echoes ran further than that, like heat from a raging firestorm. _The fire spreads!_

"Kill it!" grunted Saren, organic arm glowing, pinning the Nerazim down in a flurry of biotics. The other two turians had already produced previously unseen pistols and fired mercilessly at the Nerazim, who tried to dance between the rounds as Zeratul might have. But he was no Zeratul, and he staggered back as his shields unexpectedly broke.

Selendis strode forward, feeling at that moment as if she were an avatar of her people's rage and indignation. _Not you too. Not the Nerazim on top of everything else._ The Nerazim wheeled on her with fear in his eyes, but Selendis felt only satisfaction. His warp blade met her rightmost psi blade, and then she pulled him close. The leftmost struck below the rib cage, where everything felt soft and vital.

The flesh sizzled and burnt, and the Nerazim bellowed in pain. Selendis jerked the blade back out and shoved it back in, once, twice, three times, each time leaving a larger steaming hole in the Nerazim. With a final sigh, it melted into nothing, the still humming device clattering to the floor. Selendis lifted her boot and brought it down hard. With a crunch, the room ceased its sickening shimmering, leaving only the convulsing Artanis.

"Saren! The psi bleedout!"

"And the count of impromptu protoss surgery is now two," grunted Saren, hand extended and pointed towards the Hierarch. The other Templar now lay still, prompting a bloom of guilt in Selendis … and then panic, when she realized the wave still spread beyond this room, might spread beyond this Citadel.

Artanis's nerve stumps glowed blue, and then sealed together with a sickening splurch. Selendis kneeled next to him, clutched his hand and waited for his glowing blue eyes to once again shine with recognition. All she sensed from him was the pain and the cold.

"Executor," groaned Artanis, staring up at her. "Executor Selendis."

"I am here, Hierarch." Selendis looked back towards the turians, who looked on with unknowable expressions and thoughts. Except for Saren. Saren had folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Artanis – it will hurt. You will feel the cold. You will never again be able to bask in the Khala's light. But this is not the end. And you will not be severed from the Khalai, not truly."

"To straddle light and dark," groaned Artanis. "As Tassadar did. As you … are doing." Artanis reached forward and clutched Selendis's wrist, drawing his slightly scorched face close to hers. "You both … shame me. This total darkness! I cannot-"

"You must," insisted Selendis, tightening her own grip on the Hierarch's wrist, her voice beginning to shake. "Please. Not at this hour. Do not leave us when we need you most!"

"It is not my choice, truly." Artanis's head slumped back. "Do not … do not blame all of them. Humans or Nerazim." Artanis's eyes began to dim. "The Daelaam … was it only a fever dream? Would that Tassadar had lived. I cannot follow in his footsteps. Curse this infernal blackness!" Artanis's head met the ground with a muffled thud. The fear pulsed from him weakly, like the last of one's life blood draining on to the soil. "Do I go now to the Khala? What happens after?" His voice grew weak and began to echo within itself. "Executor, tell me. I am … afraid."

The Executor fell still. No beacon bore him off to the tanks, for Selendis suspected no beacons remained intact nearby. She kneeled there for a long moment, still clutching his hand. To her everlasting gratitude, the turians remained silent, and she almost forgot they remained present. _So young. And he aimed so high. We all did._ She crossed his arms over his chest, in the style of the ancients long before the first dragoon roamed Aiur. _And now…_

"This is the Executor," said Selendis, voice surprisingly calm. "We have just suffered a massive assault on our collective being, courtesy of UED technology." It did not seem wise to bring up the Nerazim perpetrator at that instant. "The _Spear_. Does the _Spear_ yet stand?"

"So many dead," came the reply, the shaken voice of the arkship's phase smith. "Even in the stasis tanks, they screamed and burned. Some ripped out their nerve cords. It spread like a virulent sickness…"

"How many dead?" asked Selendis, maintaining the authority. "Tell me."

"Forty-thousand six hundred and sixteen High Templar stood on or around this station just minutes before," said the phase smith. "I could feel each and every one of them. Now? The Khala is charred, our very identity assaulted. Three thousand three hundred and forty-seven remain intact. How many dead and how many disfigured, I cannot say."

Selendis turned to the turians, everything burning. The anger returned now, hot and fresh, and it felt as if once more she was one with the Khala, mourning their fallen brothers and sisters who had been so dishonorably torn from life.

Shouts and screams carried over the Presidium. Selendis looked out the window in time to see a distant pylon spark and explode, spraying the area around it with blue crystals. _Even our technology is not exempt from this … they built a weapon just to kill us. They … they built a weapon_ only _to kill us._ Selendis pressed herself against the window, feeling the coolness against her forehead, trying to calm her throbbing mind.

 _How? Why? What did we do to deserve this? We only wanted … we only wanted to save them all._

"Executor Selendis." General Desolas, stepping forward. "I … I do not know what just happened. It seems traitors still dwell within the ranks of the Dark Templar. I do not know what condolences I can offer you, so instead I offer you the wrath of Hierarchy's Second Fleet. It seems the Directorate intends to kill you all." Desolas inclined his head. "I cannot let that happen."

"We met as enemies once, above the skies of Illium." Selendis stared back at Desolas in astonishment. "We slaughtered each other. How can you extend the hand of friendship after that?"

"My duty demanded that I contest Illium," replied Desolas, straightening. "My duty now demands that I see those who did this brought to justice. Nowhere does it demand that I hate you, or the people you serve."

"Hatred should be of its own accord," said Saren, scowling at Desolas. "And it should not play into duty. I cannot forget _Relentless …_ but I cannot forget this either. Brother, place me in the fleet. Let me finally feel the spray of Earther blood across my face."

"This seems entirely impolitic," said Sparatus, glaring at the other two turians. Then, he slowly smiled. "I approve. I will alert the Primarch. Executor, you can help us bypass the relays, which remain heavily guarded. Let us take the UED in the rear. Let Korhal finally feel the sting of turian guns."

Happiness and relief poured through Selendis at this. _I have seen the best and worst of so many, now … but three of the best sit before me._ _The Nerazim can wait. First, the makers of that weapon._

"Executor," said Karax, the phase smith of the _Spear._ "The bridge … someone is hailing the bridge but no one can answer … please. Send for help. The sickness is past. What manner of weapon could do this?"

"To your ships," said Selendis, saluting the protoss in their style. "I must see what state the _Spear_ is in. I must contact Aiur, if I can. En taro Adun, brave turians. Would that this day had never come to pass." She paused and then scooped Artanis off the floor. _I will not leave him here, alone and forgotten. He was so afraid…_

Selendis vanished, praying that the teleporters too had not been stricken, and uncertain what she would find aboard the _Spear._ No sooner had she vanished then she emerged on to what felt like an abbatoir.

 _Adun, no…_

Rows of protoss dead lay strewn about the golden corridors. Some clutched at one another, others' faces ran with bloody rivulets where they had raked them in their final moments. Many khaydarin crystals now lay burst, shards of blue sticking out of floor and ceiling, sticking out of the occasional fallen templar. A zealot clutched his head and sobbed in a forgotten corner, a Nerazim standing over him.

"Executor!" The Nerazim turned to Selendis, the shock alive in her hearts. Selendis only felt a flash of anger. "They all fell … it was a great blast of heat, but it did not scorch us. What was that? Who could do this? Is that … is that the Hierarch?"

"Leave," ordered Selendis, voice catching in her throat. "Leave, now. This is no concern of the Dark Templar. Begone."

"Executor, I do not-"

"LEAVE!" screamed Selendis, almost dropping Artanis's body. She could not bear to gaze on the Nerazim. The Dark Templar vanished without a further sound. The zealot reached out weakly and groaned at Selendis's passing, his nerve stumps bound with rough wire.

"I have conducted a diagnostic, Executor," said Karax, still sounding greatly shaken. "We will need to return to Aiur for repairs. We are still functional, but we would not be able to withstand any conflict. They almost – they almost brought an arkship low. Was it some kind of bomb?"

"I know not what it was, phase smith," replied Selendis, ascending in the direction of the bridge. "But I know who made it. I know who will suffer for this outrage."

The dead lay strewn about the bridge. No survivors. In such close proximity, it did not seem there could have been any. It felt so strange to see Templar in battle attire lying stiff and dead upon the ground, their beacons disabled. It was if they had all simply fallen asleep and did not awaken. _Did it reach Aiur? Tell me this madness did not end us all in one fell swoop._ Selendis's arms shook, and Artanis's head lolled at the movement. _They made a weapon just to kill us…_

A single intact if sparking khaydarin crystal hovered above the captain's chair. Selendis lay Artanis to rest upon it, where he should have died. Then she took the crystal in her bloodied hands, mind and body roaring with blood.

"Executor?" Judicator Aldaris's voice reverberated through the crystal, thick with pain and sorrow. "We were too late. The DUAS tried to warn us. We could feel it, even here. The deaths of so many. How did this come to pass?"

"You were right," said Selendis, the bitterness swelling in her chest. "The turians turned over the – thing – to us, and a Nerazim activated it. One more traitor. I know not how many walk amongst us, Reaper servants and worse." Selendis paused, the sorrow threatening to overwhelm her voice, reduce it to pathetic mewling unworthy of an Executor. "They … the Hierarch is dead."

For a long time the Judicator did not say anything. When he spoke, it was with anger Selendis had heard from few protoss, and never from a member of the Ara Tribe.

"The last and strongest advocate for unity is dead," he spat. "Curse these Nerazim and these lesser races! Let them be swallowed by their hubris and brutality! They slay those that would order us to stay the hand, and whine piteously when protoss guns are turned upon them!" Then the Judicator paused. "But … we chose to involve ourselves with them. To become familiar with them. The Dae'uhl was to protect us both, and we abandoned it. Now only one thing remains."

"Vengeance."

"Yes," said Aldaris simply. "Vengeance. I fear Shakuras will soon be struck. They do not deserve our protection. The DUAS has given us the location of Earth." It was if a musical note were struck, a lengthy tingling bell that turned the fire inside Selendis to a raging inferno. _Yes. Earth._ "Take our battle fleets. Burn the planet. En taro Adun, Executor. Vengeance."

"General Desolas," said Selendis, broadcasting her words through the crystal and to all turian ships. "I have found us a target. I am setting a rally point. Prepare for dimensional recall." Selendis looked back to Artanis, his face frozen in the last moments of utter disappointment. "The end is nigh for the Directorate. Now at last, the galaxy will witness the unleashed fury of the Firstborn. Khassan de templari!" Selendis slammed her fists against the console in front of her, feeling the swell of pride and righteousness from the surviving protoss, even though so many lacked the Khala now, even though so many lay broken.

"Vengeance."

* * *

 **The end is nigh.**

 **Three remain.**


	64. Omega

**Alexei**

 _And so it ends. It is time to finish this._

They marshaled from all over the Koprulu Sector and beyond. His final fleet, the one to secure dominance. Krogan marched in lockstep, backed by UED medics clad in eezo boosted power armor. Colonial battlecruisers fell into formation behind _Columbuses_ who had been assembled in the drydocks above the earth. The pinks and whites freely intermixed within the units, their will as one. Iron.

And of course, the weapons test had been a success. There would be no retreat. The protoss would bend or break, but they would not stand. _Gerard … if you could see this. If your true face could see this._

"Even if you succeed here, it will only let you live long enough to see everything you have built fall apart." DuGalle stood behind him at the bridge. _If only._ The phantasm grew increasingly intrusive, gesticulating, arguing, insulting at every opportunity. But Alexei had endured worse. _Is it the last pangs of conscience? Have I truly gone mad? Is it truly Gerard, raised to pester me from the dead? It does not matter. Aiur will burn. And then we return home, supremacy secured. A pity about the rachni and zerg op, though. Nova was a good agent. She will be missed._

"All ships, all units, fall into position and await warp jump signal." Alexei cracked his gloved fingers. "Today, we do the unthinkable. Today we accomplish what the turians always wished they could. Today we break the backs of the gods themselves, and take their throne for our own. Today, the Directorate stands triumphant over the ashes of its enemies."

There were still the Umojans of course, and their damnable alliance. But the quarians would not be a problem. There were not enough of them left to afford being a problem.

 _But what of Eden Prime?_ Alexei's hands jerked involuntarily, as if subject to an electric shock. _Anderson. Where is Anderson?_ It was so easy to forget, amidst the revelry of the Citadel attack. _The earth, could it be…? No. No, David will not fail. He never fails. The hammer falls today. Les soldats reviendront. Arriveront victorieux…_

"Vice Admiral Ahern, here. Third fleet, in position."

"Corbyn, fifth fleet in position."

"This is Admiral Alexei Stukov," said Alexei, the words tasting curiously bitter. _It should have been you giving this order, Gerard._ "Jump for Aiur. Helmsman, prepare to hail the protoss on approach. So long as they understand they are beaten, there may be no need to eradicate them." A lie, of course. The High Templar would never submit. And the Nerazim might pretend to submit, only to unexpectedly cut humanity's throat when least expected.

The light blurred and stretched, the crewmen around him contorting as the jump began. Alexei flexed his blurred fingers and smiled through the dimensional bleed, ready to end this. _At last. The galaxy will witness the protoss homeworld._

Everything snapped back into place, stars, crewmen, ship, Alexei, all. Klaxons sounded immediately, and Alexei brought up the LADAR scans for the system, licking his lips and trying to urge his body to stop sweating, for he was not nervous. Not nervous at all.

"Considerably greater resistance than expected," said Alexei, staring at the loadouts. "And … those are not protoss ships."

"Admiral, we are being hailed by two separate flagships," said a puzzled looking aide, readjusting her hat. "One quarian and one … Umojan."

"It seems we are late to the party." Alexei adjusted his own cap, frowning. _It is fortunate I came in, what is in common parlance called, "overwhelming force."_ "Accept the hail."

The screens descended, two immediately lighting up. He did not expect who he saw.

"Well, Admiral," said Valerian Mengsk, hair cut short and streaked white in places, his face no longer handsome but simply gaunt. "You've been busy."

"Valerian Mengsk," replied Alexei, heart rate increasing slightly. "Would that I had stood on Korhal that day. Gerard might have hesitated in putting an end to your miserable life, but I am under no such moral compunction. I am eager to correct my old friend's error." Alexei glanced to the other screen, one of the quarians. Fuck if he could tell which one. "And you are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Limp back to your borrowed homeworld, _suka._ You survive at my mercy."

"The hell we do!" growled back the quarian. _Male. Still no idea which one, though._ "You aren't touching one of the six billion protoss down there. They pulled our asses out of the fire, now we're returning the favor. We're not budging."

"At a word, I can activate no less than sixteen psi emitters on Tarsonis, Admiral," said Alexei, raising an eyebrow. "Courtesy of Major Coates, though he did not know what he was building. Would you see your new homes wiped out?"

"Oh, you would do that wouldn't you?" snarled the Admiral, surprising Alexei at the sheer _rage_ in his tone. Valerian on the other hand, stepped back and looked alarmed rather than angry. "Yeah, right, just genocide whoever the hell gets in your way. _Bosh'tet!_ Targeting civilians, targeting entire species – it doesn't matter that we're in the firing line. It stops today!"

"Admiral!" called out the helmsman, only for Alexei to figure out what was happening before her sentence completed. More ships, terran ones, jumping close to the defensive ring around the planet. Two more vidscreens activated, and Alexei could not help but take a sharp breath inward as what had promised to be an easy victory increasingly turned sour.

"Stukov," said the Illusive Man, inclining his head. "You turned out to be more of a threat to our existence than I had initially suspected. The atrocities stop here and now."

"Goddamn, a jungle planet?" Zaeed Massani stared back over his planet. "Shit, figured them for an ocean world, turns out they're goddamn overgrown salarians. Oh, and Stukov – what you did to Moria and her people goes beyond the pale. I'm mounting your head on my mantelpiece."

"Illusive Man, Massani," Alexei inclined his head to each in turn, as Gerard laughed and laughed. "I would have thought you would show the UED more gratitude for killing Mengsk and rescuing you from collectors, respectively."

"Mengsk had to die for his sins," said the Illusive Man, blue eyes shining in the dim light of his own ship, "and now you die for yours. We will light such a fire here, Alexei, that it will shine across the system. Cerberus is prepared for its final push, alongside the better half of the Blue Suns."

"Your boys pulled my ass out of that base, right with a bunch of protoss." Zaeed Massani folded his arms. "Not you. And it would have been bad PR to leave me, right? You don't get awards for basic goddamn decency."

"And what does Vido think of this arrangement?" asked Alexei, wondering if the man would answer a hurried QEC call to Moria. Zaeed raised an eyebrow and whistled.

"Oi! This man wants to see Vido!" Something flew out of frame to Zaeed, who caught it with a grin. He then lifted a dark severed head to the screen, his mouth still agape with surprise. "Say hello to Alexei, Vido!"

"And I'm the bad guy here?" asked Alexei as Valerian coughed, looking just a slight bit green. The Admiral only shook his head, tired of these proceedings.

"Vido might not have cared about anything but siphoning money and power from you, Stukov," said Zaeed, tossing the head absentmindedly behind him. "But I do. So fuck him and fuck you too. Like I said; your head. My mantelpiece."

Alexei stared at the array of ships before him. _Too many to take comfortably._ He tapped his omnitool, sending a hurried message to Ahern to contact fourth and sixth fleet, get them to scramble immediately. _The Umoja attack can wait._ _And we could really use the_ Normandy _here, if she is anywhere to be found. If Rear Admiral Anderson stood with us, we would be unstoppable._

"You're outnumbered, Stukov," said Valerian. "We're not budging. How many more people have to die, humans and aliens both, before you realize you cannot take the whole sector? That not all of us will bow to you?"

"Another emperor in the making," Alexei said to the Illusive Man before turning to Valerian. "Let me make this clear, little man. I am Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate. I restructured the entirety of my homeworld to make this expedition possible. I have seen worlds burning below me at the order from the guns under my command. I have conducted scientific experiments that would have turned the stomach of even your miserable late father, and did so with only grim determination. I have constructed a weapon that will break the protoss. I have leashed the krogan where you failed to do so with your zerg and rachni. I have withstood tragedy, betrayal, and terrorism from the Illusive Man's Cerberus. If you think that you, a pretty boy would-be emperor with delusions of one day taking his father's place - who cannot even grow a beard upon his face - can intimidate me, then it is high time someone taught you the harsh realities of life that your parents refused to."

"You are a sick man, Admiral," replied Valerian, face ashen, but still fully in control. "And you have no chance here. You cannot win."

"You vastly underestimate me, my dear." Alexei grinned at him. "I thought today only Aiur would burn. But it would seem that several entire fleets would burn over her skies first. You are certain you wish to proceed, Admiral…?"

"Han'Gerrel," snapped the Admiral. "Do your worst, you miserable excuse for a sapient. I will see you die screaming."

"Stop!" One more vidscreen, one more voice. A protoss. "This is Judicator Aldaris. Admiral Stukov, I would show you something. Something most exciting."

"At last, the protoss speak for themselves rather than sending for their idiotic lapdogs." Alexei waved an airy hand at the crowned head of the Judicator. "Well? Get on with it."

"Displaying video," said Aldaris, a smug tone set in his voice that made Alexei's blood run cold. "Watch closely, now. I am sending it to all of your ships."

"What?" Alexei started, but the video had already begun. Fuzzy footage, shitty footage, to be sure … but what it showed.

"Oh no," breathed the helmsman, a sentiment likely echoed across the fleet, across the armada, across the species.

Fire along the North American eastern seaboard, the orbit above choked with wreckage. Fire at Cape Horn, something Alexei had always longed to do, now accomplished by the protoss. Fire in the old buildings of Europe, some of which had stood for over a thousand years. Smoke rising from all. Fire. Fire. Fire.

"Is that…?" Valerian Mengsk peered closer at a vidscreen Alexei could not see. "I do not recognize that planet." _These humans … when they see it, they do not recognize the surface of their homeworld. What's left of it. Of Earth. The cradle._

"Fourth and sixth fleet are here, sir." The helmsman stuttered out the words in a daze, clutching to duty in lieu of all else. "It appears the _Normandy_ is among them."

"Good," said Alexei, stumbling a little, placing his hand on the rightmost vidscreen to steady himself. Already the mind reeled, reevaluating, trying to spin this.

"Already?" asked DuGalle, and Alexei winced at these words. "As my children likely burn because of your actions, still you decide to press forward?"

 _Don't say that. Never say that!_ Alexei had to remind himself it was only a meddlesome hallucination. Instead, he stared up at EDI.

"What do we have left except for vengeance?" Alexei asked simply. "We fought on for the home we intended to return to. Now there is only ashes. Ashes and retaliation."

"We have halted bombardment upon your approach to Aiur on General Desolas's suggestion," said Aldaris, voice a barbed whip. _The turians, too? No. No. No._ "If you surrender, we will begin rescue efforts and cease hostilities. If you give us reason to finish this-"

"I will give you six billion reasons!" cried out Alexei, bringing his face close to Aldaris. "How did you do this? Who betrayed us? Who killed the earth?"

"It is not yet dead," insisted Aldaris. "Only the areas with orbital defenses were targeted, alongside the lunar colony, which threw nuclear weapons at us. The earth may not yet burn, provided you relinquish your weapons and surrender, here and now."

"The _Normandy_ is docking, Admiral." The helmsman, pale and shaking. "The – the rear admiral wishes to speak with you."

"Granted," snapped Alexei, waving her off. "Humanity will live on. In the rest of the sector if need be. But we have no guarantee you will cease bombardment if we disarm. You could easily finish the job. No. Earth will burn. It is already burning. It is only fit that Aiur burns also."

"And you call me the would-be emperor," said Valerian, looking disgusted. "My father had similar sentiments. He carried them out. We saw the result. Are you blind, Alexei? What about the rest of your men? Why do they still follow you?"

"What else do they have now?" screamed Alexei, showering the vidscreen with spit. "You would kill their homes and families, so they may as well follow the man who will kill yours right back. They will slake themselves on your blood, and be right to do so, as you prove every word we have ever said about the aliens true! As you prove yourselves race traitors by aiding and abetting the likes of the protoss and turians!"

"Is there not a man among you who will stop him?" asked Aldaris, his words echoing throughout the fleet. "We offer you mercy, and you choose destruction."

"I offer mercy if you leave the earth and surrender your ships and weapons to us." Alexei shrugged. "Does it sound any more reasonable coming from me?"

"Why do you do this?" asked Aldaris, voice suddenly plaintive, pleading, and confused. "I – I do not understand. I thought I saw hatred during the protoss civil war. Experienced it at the hands of the opposition. But this – how did this, how did you, come to decide we were all worthy of death? Seek out a means to destroy us so utterly?"

"The mistake began when Alexei slithered out of his mother's womb," said Gerard, and Alexei turned to the hallucination, the tears welling up in his face. "It will end when his head rolls off the chopping block. You should have died on Korhal that day, Alexei. Or well before. The galaxy would be better for it."

"I have accomplished the impossible," said Alexei through gritted teeth, the tears rolling down his hairy cheeks now, his words directed at Aldaris … but also to the phantasm. "I have unified the Koprulu Sector almost entirely, Dominion, Combine, and Directorate all rolled into one. I have turned the krogan into a safeguard against rebellion. Tell me … tell me that is not extraordinary?"

The vidscreens only looked to one another in confusion. Alexei's head swam. His heart pounded. The earth burned. _There is nothing left now. Nothing left. Save the plunge. Save that final push._ Nothing else mattered now. All that mattered was that the misery was shared, that everyone available share that same fucking throbbing pain that Alexei had dealt with since stepping into that academy all those years ago. _I am in control. And you are all dead._

The bulkhead to his right opened, and heavy footsteps rang through. _Power armor? Perhaps Anderson._ Alexei looked down and prepared to give congratulations followed by brusque orders.

Commander Shepard, clad in medical power armor, stood at the foot of the CIC.

"Commander Shepard?" asked Alexei. "Where is David?" Shepard only stood aside, the tears shining in her own eyes, to reveal Joker leaning on one crutch, pointing a-

The bullet slammed into Alexei's side, sending blood showering over the vidscreen to the muffled hoots and yells of the people on the other side. Alexei staggered, catching himself on a barrier and looking up to see Commander Shepard strolling past him to the vidscreen while Joker grinned up at him.

"The … the cripple?" Alexei spat, but his spit remained free of blood. His side flashed with pain and he collapsed against the corner of the barrier, legs still kicking, trying to stand. "You … you shot me." _Why is no one stopping them?_

"This is acting Admiral Amelia Shepard. All ships, all units, stand down." _There is no way that will work. How could – where is David?_ "EDI, the Admiral's actions endanger humanity, and he is clearly unfit for duty. Per Directorate guidelines, I am to remove him from power if he has become a danger to himself or others. Correct?"

"That is correct, Shepard." Alexei noted the lack of rank. "Specify the conditions requiring his removal."

"Someone shoot her!" called out Alexei, voice gurgling slightly. "Security! Where are the MPs?"

But nobody moved.

"Attempted potential genocide of an endangered alien race, encouraging reciprocation to humans," said Amelia after sucking in a deep breath. "Refusing to take the only course of action that might spare the earth further orbital bombardment-"

"EDI!" called out Alexei. "Activate … all psi emitters on Tarsonis. Activate all krogan nanites-"

"Orders pending current evaluation of mental status, Admiral." Alexei coughed, and some vomit actually choked forth. _No. Not like this. Anything but a whimper!_

"-and there is evidence he is suffering from severe emotional distress that might, among other things, be manifesting as audio-visual hallucinations." Gerard laughed openly again. Shepard looked behind to Alexei. He was surprised that he saw no pity. "I must take command since no one else dares to. I do it for the good of humanity. As a true soldier of the UED should, if given the opportunity."

"Traitor," growled Alexei, but the words sounded dead and unconvincing to even his own ears. "Why is no one doing anything? Ahern? Corbyn? Anyone?"

"Override accepted. Disregarding pending commands given by Alexei Stukov." Alexei screamed, a ragged, pathetic thing, an animal howl that choked off into a strangled crescendo. He stopped, clutching his side, the wound bleeding freely.

"You have only brought us death, Commander." Amelia did not turn around. Alexei grinned a savage grin at her. "They will betray you. It is their way. There will be no rescue."

"I am surrendering on behalf of the United Earth Directorate," continued Shepard, glancing at each vidscreen. "EDI, all ships, all units, power down all weapons systems and prepare to be boarded."

"Are – are you sure?" The helmsman, sounding desperately uncertain.

"If nothing else, this is for our families. Would you prefer a vicious pyrrhic victory or an honorable and painless defeat?" Shepard spread her arms wide. "Our fate is now in your hands. Alien and colonial. You have bested us. What will you do now?"

"I want his head," came Zaeed's voice. "I wasn't fucking joking."

"I want all UED garrisons to surrender and submit themselves to colonial custody." Valerian, making Alexei's blood boil. "Contact General Warfield. Tell him I am still alive."

"I want Earth to burn," said Aldaris simply, making Alexei grin in satisfaction. "I want Earth to burn as Artanis burned. I want you to suffer as we have suffered."

"That is not necessary," replied Valerian, making Alexei grit his teeth in frustration and pain. "That is not necessary, and I will fire upon your ships if you commit to it. It is over. It is done. If you would see another cycle of Korhal and Tarsonis, then by all means fire away. But I would know if the Hierarchy would agree to this."

"The Executor demands blood!" said Aldaris. " _I_ … I wish I could demand it. I wish I could ease the need for vengeance gnawing at my hearts." _But you cannot._ "Yet it seems I must make the attempt." _No. No!_ "Executor, stay your guns. Make contact with Earth's governments. It seems it must be a peace. Their fleets have surrendered. Their defenses have fallen. So ends the United Earth Directorate."

 _Then … so ends Admiral Stukov._

Alexei reached to his blood-soaked hip and felt for the reassuringly solid grip of his pistol. He pulled it free, considering for a moment aiming it someone, anyone, even the armored commander, before finally lifting it under his chin…

Hard fingers crushed his grip, making the pistol fall away as his fingers crunched. Alexei cried out and looked up to the reddened brown face of Shepard, teeth bared.

"No," she whispered. "No, you have to live to see how wrong you are. To suffer for what you've done. To see a peace upon the galaxy that you insisted was impossible. To realize all of that torture and heartbreak, the bloodshed and bile … that it was all worthless. There will be no martyrdom for you, Alexei Stukov." She wrenched the pistol away, leaving Alexei unable even to weep, simply wretched and broken.

The phantasm crouched over him next.

"And so it ends, Alexei." Gerard smiled. "Would that it had ended sooner. The UED is no more … but you will linger on, a hateful relic of a pathetic age." Gerard patted Alexei on the cap, and Alexei could feel nothing. "I leave you here, a broken and tattered thing."

"Gerard," croaked Alexei, reaching out for his love, his oldest friend. _Even a shadow who loathes me … anything better than nothing at all. Gerard!_

Gerard DuGalle took one last look at the bridge before him and smiled. Then, he faded away, his edges losing cohesion, the blinking lights of monitors shining through his resplendent uniform. He did not look back.

"Don't…" Alexei reached out, feeling as if his side were ripping in half, ignoring Shepard approaching him with two MPs flanking her, prepared to finally take him where he even he could deny he probably belonged all along.

"Don't leave me."


	65. The Daelaam

**Tali'Zorah**

The sunless expanses of Shakuras stretched in every direction, the formerly verdant fields of the quarian migrants now lying barren as they completed their final exodus from the planet. The xel'naga temple stood alone before the city of Talematros, more or less in the shadow of the Dark Templar's capital, fittingly enough. Before, Tali could scarcely remember a time many of the Nerazim had spent time within the temple proper. Now, great multitudes of them gathered at the entrance, practically swarmed the perimeter. _Well, this is important. As Father keeps reminding me._

There were about a hundred other things Tali would rather be doing at that moment. Tarsonis still required extensive and careful cleanup, not to mention help with city planning. Refugees from Earth streamed in from protoss ships, destined to a likely life of mistreatment from their colonial peers and alien neighbors. They would need help. Tali owed them that, for Ashley Williams. And, well … she could not help but feel depressed at the trial within the temple, which wore on and on, but the outcome looked no less inevitable. _The High Templar stopped the fighting, the Dark Templar gave us a home. The Daelaam Protectorate saved us. And now it is to be no more._

"Until I am certain the Reaper threat is past, that there are to be no more accidental suicide missions, you will remain right where I can see you," Rael'Zorah had said, his voice taking on tones as pained as they were imperious. "I am so proud of you … and I am so ashamed about putting you in danger. So, until the former outstrips the latter … just humor this old man, please."

Her wounds might have healed, the galaxy finally looked finally poised to make a much needed recovery, and no wars raged any longer between any of the nations. Valerian Mengsk, bless him, had taken the role of the Dominion's "Administrator" until the people had recovered.

"If you want me as your emperor, if that is the will of the people, then I will happily serve," he had said to the roaring crowds. "But … I cannot force that on you. I will honor your decision. Take your time."

Tali could not say whether that boy deserved the title or not, but she would not feel any more uncomfortable on Tarsonis if he took the crown. _That does leave the rachni and zerg, though … where did they go off to?_

It was hard to care though, staring up at the purple Shakuras sky with her father or Kal'Reegar, telling stupid jokes about Admiral Xen. The collector base seemed so distant. Tarsonis seemed so close. Wounds mended basically before their eyes, and the only lasting tragedy seemed to be the imminent dissolution of the Daelaam. _And … perhaps that is for the best._

Tomorrow was to be the final session. The admirals knew it, Kal'Reegar knew it, Tali knew it. Raszagal's words all but stated that it could be nothing less.

"When we founded this alliance, it was in the hope that it would last as long as the High Templar's vaunted Conclave," said Raszagal, staring down at all of them with such sad eyes. "We are a long-lived species, both a blessing and a curse. Our institutions do not usually outlast many of us. But to see the Daelaam shattered so, and at the hands of but a few wretched traitors … it breaks these tired old hearts. But the High Templar are wounded, and many cannot bear to look upon us. We must respect their wishes and their grievances. They are right to be angry at us."

The trial of Zeratul still loomed in the minds of many. The Judicator had held to his initial statement, that the Dark Templar should be the one to judge and sentence, but he had more or less outright said they would experience grave disappointment and worse should he be found anything other than guilty. _Such was the way of things._ Only the sentence seemed uncertain. _But I will not be here for that. Praise the ancestors, I would not want to see it. Keelah se'lai…_

Today was to be a quiet day, what was left of it. After enjoying the finest dextro rations her people could cart over from Tarsonis (even her father had difficulty containing his dismay at this last meal) she meandered over to the training grounds, where the Dark Templar drilled their next generation on the ways of shadowy subterfuge that only they could truly master. Generally it was Mohandar who walked the dark winding canyons, murmuring instructions to the Nerazim crouched within. But today it was Raszagal, supporting herself on a thin rod of wood.

Tali maintained a polite distance behind Raszagal, who acknowledged her with a nod. Together, they walked through the rough path up and around the canyon side together, the wind howling in her ears. Raszagal, however, heard things she could not.

"I can hear you plainly, Karam," she said, stopping. "Adjust your footing, and mind the loose stone. It sends skitters of rocks, makes your location plain. You must move with deliberation, and not succumb to the allure of opportunity alone. We have precious few defenses if we are fully exposed. Think carefully if you would be willing to risk your life against a foe for that one stroke."

Tali could see or hear nothing, even after stopping and looking around for several lingering moments. _Would that I could see what they could see._ After a few second's pause, Raszagal grunted and continued upwards, moving with surprising strength and certainty for one confined to a walking stick.

"Damatar! A fine trick, to linger above the ridge, so." Tali looked up to where Raszagal pointed up above, to a ridged stretch of rock. She thought she saw a flicker of motion. "Such use of the environment will serve you well, but your curiosity exposes you. Wait until the prey passes below and then make use of a distraction. Fling a rock, tell a cohort to flank, anything. To mask one's intentions by exposing the lesser threat is a simple deception, but undeniably effective."

Raszagal paused and turned to Tali, who held up her hands. _Not trying to be a distraction._

"I do not fault you for your presence, Tali'Zorah. Your company is welcome." Raszagal arced a long finger back to her, encouraging her to come closer. "I know the outcome of the trial saddens you, child."

"It just seems such a waste," replied Tali, almost stomping her foot in frustration. "The Daelaam saved the quarians. They saved the geth. The Reapers feared your people together … and now it all comes undone. Could we have done anything differently?"

"Elements of my people have never wanted unity, Tali'Zorah." Raszagal lowered her head. "These few, these brash few, have all but destroyed the Khalai's faith in us. Saddening, but understandable. The Reaper allied ones however…" Raszagal muttered something to herself in Khalani. "Hmph. I should not use such language. Would that I could root them out, find the source of this corruption."

"Do you think it might have been Aldaris after all of this?" asked Tali, honestly wondering if all the wounded indignation was just a clever front. "Do you think – do you think Garrus was wrong to save him?"

"I doubt it, child." Raszagal looked up the heavens. "Hmm. It seems it is almost time. The Aiur delegation will soon be here for the final decision." Raszagal looked up to the ridge again. "Damatar! Remember my words! Mohandar will be along shortly. See if you cannot take him by surprise. Adun toridas!" Raszagal turned around to Tali again, arcing her finger. "Walk with me, child. Sometimes I trip and fall, and require assistance. And I enjoy the company of quarians, besides."

They left the winding canyon together, Tali holding Raszagal's free hand, which clutched her own with a reassuring strength. The Matriarch seemed hale and hearty given her astonishing age, not stumbling once. _Does she really need me here?_

"I do not know who will be in the delegation," said Raszagal, her words interspersed with the crunching footfalls upon the rock. "Not Aldaris, which is acceptable. Not Udun either. They only told me it was someone no one would expect. Someone who would not unexpectedly fall to an unseen warp blade, for he has survived so much already."

"Sounds like they'll be sending an immortal then," said Tali, shrugging. "Taldarin, maybe."

"Perhaps." Raszagal's grip tightened slightly. "He would be an intriguing visitor." She pointed to the temple's peak, now just becoming visible over the canyon walls. "They will land by the temple."

No one else gathered where Raszagal eventually elected to wait, bidding Tali'Zorah to stay also. Nerazim sometimes strode in and out of the temple, but it was always on some other end. They touched their forehead and murmured greetings to both Tali and Raszagal, but never lingered. The Matriarch only kept her eyes up above.

"I think it will be peace from here," she said, sounding certain. "Earth will soon have a Waygate next to it. The terrans have settled down. The turians ease themselves somewhat … yes. Not an ideal peace, for that would require the Daelaam to remain intact, but a peace nonetheless. It cost many lives to purchase."

Tali nodded, hoping this was true. If nothing else, she could see no enemies that remained at large. _Reapers, UED, zerg … well the zerg are at large. But I trust the rachni queen. I hope I see her again, someday._

"They come." Raszagal pointed. "Ah … it does seem they brought an immortal. And it is … familiar." Raszagal's voice dropped an octave, then she chuckled. "Now, how did this come to pass? Truly, he must be indestructible."

"Who is it?" asked Tali, but the answer was cut off by the warp prism's appearance from the clouds, its blue crystals flaring in the Shakuras twilight. It hovered above the two of them, the crystal matrices adjusting. Then, a massive electrified blue form materialized before them, twin guns swiveling. The immortal emerged quickly, staring down at the pair of them.

"I walk upon Shakuras again!" came the cry, and Tali gave a start. "I rise from the ashes by the will of the Khala, wounded as it is! That which is broken can be remade into a new whole. I, Praetor Fenix, exemplify this as no other can! In this dark hour, I bid you fond welcome, Matriarch, Tali'Zorah. How good it is to walk in the waking world!"

"That's impossible," said Tali flatly, looking the twenty foot tall immortal up and down. "I saw you die."

"No, you saw me leap to almost certain death." The immortal turned and studied her. "You are right to express disbelief, for no other could likely have survived as I did. The Reaper felt the sting of my blades, first outside, and then within. Its clumsiness was no match for my wrath! When the bomb detonated, much of the ship remained intact … even if I did not."

"Your suit would have activated your warp beacon," said Raszagal, open disbelief in her voice.

"I disabled it! I knew there were no facilities nearby that would save me. I would rather fight on after being struck a mortal blow." Throaty laughter echoed from the immortal, booming across the countryside. Quarians and Nerazim stopped and stared alike at this golden machine.

"I drifted in wreckage, and fell into a deep meditation. My lifeblood slowed, and the light from so many dying stars filled my body. I forgot time and pain, love and life. There was only the Khala, and dreams of hard-fought victory." The immortal paused. "In time, I thought I even saw Tassadar's face. I – I beg you not to share this with anyone else Tali, Matriarch. They would deem it blasphemous. But he said to me, "Wake, mighty one. This galaxy still has need of warriors like you. Your histories are yet to be written! The greatest war of this time is still to be decided, and you cannot go to the Khala without wetting your blades one last time. Go, brother, return to life. Live, as no one else could.""

A heavy silence fell on the three of them. Tali's throat felt heavy. Raszagal seemed in shock.

"I cried out," said Fenix, sounding slightly disturbed himself. "Protoss drones still picked through the wreckage. I was heard. The wounding of the Khala on behalf of that Nerazim – it roused me from my sleep. I was recovered, but not whole. We are not built fragile as the less – as other sapients, and I was at no risk of starvation or freezing to death, but damage was done. I was given the choice to return to the Khala properly, or rouse myself for what may come next."

"You made the right decision." Tali walked forward and wrapped her arms as far as she could around Fenix's metal leg. "Welcome back, Praetor. I'm … I'm sorry about your body."

"Bah! I always knew it was my destiny to end up as a battle tank." Fenix chuckled again. "Think of the foes I may now lay waste to! If another Reaper Destroyer rears its head, I will match it and then exceed it with the thunder of my cannons! Let it try to pierce the hardened shields. Fenix is risen! Let all our foes tremble!"

"Indeed," said Raszagal, still sounding a bit stricken. "I am pleased to see you arise from the dead, Fenix. You are here to see the dissolution of the Daelaam Protectorate?"

"I have not yet given up hope. Not when I have survived the impossible." Fenix hummed, and another figure began to materialize. "I bring the geth representative. Legion seeks out Tali, but also wishes to see the culmination of these meetings, whatever it might be."

"Tali'Zorah." Tali stepped back from Fenix's leg. The geth now walked with a limp, a sight far stranger than Tali would ever have thought, and its lamp head looked slightly charred. "We would speak. To you." It turned to the Matriarch. "In. Private."

"We have our duties to attend to, and Mohandar would not forgive me if I failed to bring you to him, Praetor." Raszagal beckoned. "Come. There are many in Talematros who will be overjoyed to hear your voice. Zeratul included. Zeratul especially."

Fenix departed, although his voice still boomed for a considerable distance. Legion and Tali only stared at one another. _What does it want? It sought me out?_

"We are glad. To see you well. Tali'Zorah." The geth limped forward. "We. Apologize for. Unoptimized performance. We touched. The Khala. And it burned."

"Oh," said Tali, suddenly feeling awful. After briefly glancing around to see if any quarians were watching, she stepped forward and gave the geth a hug as well. It did not return the hug of course, but it was a damnably logical being. It would understand. "You … did you lose programs?"

"Yes." Legion parted staring directly into Tali's mask. "We lost. Many. Programs. For first time. Geth. Understand. Pain. Organic pain."

Tali winced. Legion's eye flickered and refocused.

"Painkillers. Do creators. Have enough. Painkillers?" Legion's words were so halting and stilted, yet she could still recognize desperation in its voice. "Organics. We must prevent pain. Where possible. Why are organics. Not always on. Painkillers?"

 _Keelah, the experience must have really scarred them._ Tali folded her arms.

"They are … non-optimal if you want to be productive in society." She tried to use language that felt appropriate for geth. "Too many drawbacks to be reliable. Addictive. Legion – believe it or not, pain is just a part of life for us. Something to be avoided if possible, but it will always be a factor. Even birth is painful."

"We caused. Creators. Pain." Legion's lamp head kept twitching, as if it were somehow shell-shocked. "Forgiveness – how can anyone forgive-"

"We can't." Tali unfolded her arms. "I'm sorry. Maybe now you understand why. Why did you look for me, Legion?"

"The culprit. Must. Be found." Legion stepped forward, right leg still dragging slightly. "Attack on tower. Shadow Broker indoctrination. Activation of Culexus. Disruptive element. Most likely. Not Aldaris. Require insight of. Trusted objective party."

"And you want me." Tali sighed. "Legion – you've saved my life twice now. For what it is worth, I consider you a friend, even if I cannot say the same for the rest of the geth. What makes you think I can determine the culprit when you cannot?"

"Certain codes. Unfamiliar." Legion activated his own omnitool, both hands twitching erratically. "Certain data. Unclear. Require outside input. Protoss too close. To catastrophe. Other geth. Insufficient. Quarians – match for needs. Humbly request. Assistance."

Tali sighed. _Well, I have nothing else to do tonight unless I want to catch up with the Praetor … and for what it is worth, I really would like to find out who has caused all this pain and death._

"What would you have me do?"

The answer was both simple and shocking. Legion called down a geth dropship, one of the curiously organic vessels the geth designed of their own accord. It landed on the ground on its strange mechanical legs, perching like a bug upon a leaf. Then Legion led Tali inside, pointed to a series of panels on the wall, complete with wires and a bulky headset.

"Consensus." Legion blinked its light. "Make local link. With consensus. View acquired Reaper and Broker data. First quarian. First organic. To make link."

"This isn't what I had in mind when I said I would help you." Tali began to back out of the ship, hands lifted. "That's a little extreme, Legion. You could just as easily have handed me the data."

"Time. Is limited." Legion whirred and clicked. "Daelaam. Must survive. Perpetrator. Must be uncovered. Will be able to survey. More data. Shorter time. We assure your safety." Legion bowed its head. "Creator Zorah."

Tali glanced back at the small impromptu quarian quarters in the shadow of the temple. _My father waits for me. He'll send out Reegar to look for me._ She looked to Legion, whose leg still dragged behind with every motion. _Do they not know how to heal? Is this an appeal for sympathy and they actually feel fine?_ That did not seem in the geth's nature. _No, this is their first taste of real loss. Keelah, they're still children after all. In a sense. That is what Zaal'Koris says, anyway._

"What will happen if you link me to that?" asked Tali, not taking a step forward.

"Experience consensus." Legion's eye shuttered off slightly, as if in mild puzzlement. "Will assist. With cognitive processing. Will go over files. Request assistance with decryption." Legion held up hands. "Please. We do this for good. Of protoss. Better united. The traitor. Must be expunged. We beg. Humbly."

 _I suppose._ Tali looked one last time at the quarian encampment. _I have to at least try. Keelah se'lai. En taro Adun, Tassadar, and Artanis._

Tali stepped back into the ship and seated herself in one of the booths. Geth placed the helmet over her eyes.

"Relax. Breath slowly." _Trying._ Metal hands gripped hers and squeezed lightly. _If Fenix can survive a nuclear explosion … months drifting in a Reaper wreck …_ "Ten seconds."

The hands released, and Tali clenched her fists on her lap. _Should I have eaten? How long will this take?_

Then she jerked once, her vision seeming to expand. The world fell away around her, the view of the metal helmet about her head twisting and turning to static. For a moment she felt weightless, standing in a starry void. Then the void gave way to plain shapes, geometric figures linked together by burning gold wire.

She stood upon a perfectly square blue plateau, which stretched below as a cylinder. Similar rectangular cylinders ran across the distant floors and ceiling, gold wire running along them, linking the tops of some to others. Tali looked around to see a cold blue expanse, partially wreathed in glorious flame. _The Khala. The Khala binds. The Khala protects._

"Tali'Zorah." Legion, hovering above her as a translucent figure of itself. "We may communicate without issue here. We welcome you to the Geth Consensus … and the Khala."

Distant voices carried across the baffling landscape, the conversation of protoss, the clicking of geth. Tali thought she could even hear the condescending tones of the Judicator from a nearby pillar. Legion lowered and extended its hand.

"We will guide you to the first set of data." Legion inclined its head. "We … we hope you do not find your surroundings threatening."

"Not at all." Tali took one more quick look around her. "It is not what I expected. But it is beautiful, in a strange way." She took Legion's hand.

"First set." The data flew by quickly, confused images and statistics. Legion droned into her ear, trying to aid with understanding. "Shakuras relay is open. Unclear when this happened. Nerazim rogue, turians rogue. Both linked with Shadow Broker. Broker indoctrinated, imprisoned on ship. Knew everything about all parties. Knew about Saren. Knew about Samara. Knew about Legion and Zeratul."

"How?" Tali's eyes flickered under her face mask. She tried not to wince as she caught some of the combat footage of the Broker taken within his own ship. _He looks horrific. What was he?_

"Unknown. Must have been informed by reliable source." The images continued to whizz by. "Zeratul suspected Aldaris. Broker knew a speech Zeratul had recited before, at close of protoss civil war. One of few present."

"Who else?" asked Tali sharply.

"Kythos. Ulrezaj. Artanis. Raszagal. Udun. Mohandar. Selendis. Fenix." Legion now stood next to Tali (well, virtually, at least) watching the images with her. "None save Ulrezaj have any grudge against Khalai. But Ulrezaj pledged himself to Tassadar's memory. He is one of the Disciples. We judge only 27% probability of Ulrezaj being the traitor."

"None of those seem likely." Tali frowned. "More data. What have you been unable to crack?"

"Follow." Legion vanished, and a series of perfectly square black platforms, which quivered as she stepped upon them. More appeared before her, creating a hovering path. Tali walked through the Consensus, ears straining for the snippets of protoss bellowing to one another, weeping, arguing.

"The Khala seems filled with pain, Legion," said Tali, a lump rising in her throat.

"To lose so many in a single stroke, in such a fashion…" Legion paused. "It reminds them of the Aeon of Strife. Despite the peace upon the rest of the galaxy, the Firstborn fear the resurgence of the zerg. They fear the Nerazim. They fear they will not be strong enough to withstand the coming millennia. The galaxy has changed."

 _That it has._ Tali lowered her head and felt a fresh surge of determination. _It's time to find out who changed it._

A glowing terminal waited atop one of the perfectly flat blue plateaus. The gold wire retracted as Tali approached it, the voices fading, making way for her passing. She approached the terminal and turned it on to be immediately greeted with strings of code.

"Terminus and Umojan hybrid encryption," said Tali, recognizing it and feeling a surge of dread. _I've seen this maybe twice. I still think someone created this as a joke. The Terminus and Umoja rarely exchanged much beyond curses._ "Rare and esoteric. It's not quite military grade, but there's maybe a hundred people in the galaxy who would immediately be able to recognize this." _And I am one of them._ _Veetor, maybe another._ "I'm not surprised you could not make heads or tails of this."

"It will delete itself at first sign of intrusion." Legion appeared next to her. "We could not risk it without further research. Can you crack this, Tali'Zorah?"

"Well, given time, which you _have_ given me … yes." Tali looked around one last time, cracked her knuckles, and got to work.

It was a curious sensation, to not be limited physically. Tali's fingers did not ache from the inside as she typed, her legs did not grow tired, she did not ever begin to suffer from thirst. Legion watched in silence from behind, leaving her in peace. _So, perfect work environment. I'll be sure to relay that to Admiral Xen. Tell her that no one will bother her with inane questions…_

"Got it. Or, got something at least." The patterns of letters became sentences, images began to appear. Tali smiled under her helmet. "Transmission between Broker and … someone. That part is still encrypted."

"Reaper code recognized. Translating." The letters transfigured before Tali's eyes, making her wonder just how much of the Geth Consensus's appearance was purely for her own benefit, constructed by Legion.

"Transmission between SB – Shadow Broker – and Overlord. Probably Harbinger." Tali looked closer, read the text clearly. "Broker says: Gestation point compromised. Hierarch is adamant. Advise." And Harbinger replies…" Tali frowned. "Harbinger replies: "Speed the process. Send them to the center. Let them think they have victory." Legion … the Reapers wanted us at the collector base. There are also images of … humans. Melting?" She blinked. "Legion, these messages were sent after you killed the Broker – or whatever that thing was."

"Suspected as much. Meets expectations of Reaper behavior. Broker still lives. Broker on ship was false." Legion vanished again, more square platforms leading off into the distance. "Proceed to next data point."

Tali stepped away from the console, which faded. She followed the floating square platforms, which she began to suspect were Legion itself, somehow, and followed them through the empty spaces.

Far to her right chunks of the blue rock hung suspended in the air, blackened and dead. Charred ruined wire floated from them, twisting in some unseen simulated breeze. At that moment, the Consensus looked less like some bizarre mechanical abstraction, and instead a wounded living being, suffering from some kind of disease, perhaps. For some reason, it hurt to look at.

"The remnants of the Culexus?" asked Tali, gesturing in the distance.

"We experienced pain. Death." Static ran through Legion's monotone voice. "We saw programs disintegrate. Protoss died while linked to the Geth Consensus. We … we made them more vulnerable."

 _So you did._ Tali tore her eyes away, feeling as if she had strode into a room where someone had just died. The same sense of loss. The same sense of strange otherworldly intrusion.

The second console proved simpler than the first, particularly now that she had brushed up on her Terminus.

"Parts of this are Nerazim cypher, fairly simple," said Tali, flexing her fingers, even if they felt fine. "Mixed again with Terminus … strange. Never seen this combination before. I guess the Shadow Broker liked creating hybrid codes? Makes a bosh'tet to translate." She paused at the console. "Any Reaper code?"

"Yes. Translating." This did little to make the document any more readable, but the rest was Tali's job.

"How much time has passed, Legion?" asked Tali, not looking up from her work. "It's so hard to tell."

"Seven hours, Tali'Zorah," replied Legion, giving Tali a start. "We have made considerable progress, however."

"Just don't leave me in here to die of dehydration," said Tali, shrugging it off. She had work to do. "Keelah, I hope I get this right."

Soon, however, she had a mostly readable document. Another brief conversation.

"Shadow Broker: "Word of anti-psionic weapon deployment at Citadel in two days. UED Culexus. Arterius to deploy. Advise."" Tali almost choked at the response, her eyes watering. "O-Overlord: "Ensure device detonates by any means necessary. Tail Arterius. Assign agent to guard Hierarch.""

"Traitor had hand in assigning security detail to Hierarch." Legion shut down the console. "Five potential individuals responsible for assigning rotating Daelaam bodyguard to Hierarch while on Citadel. Aldaris. Raszagal. Mohandar. Udun. Selendis. Artanis had the choice to veto any choice of guard, but did not exercise this right to our knowledge."

"Could High Templar assign Nerazim to guard the Hierarch?" asked Tali, fists clenching, staring at the empty space where the console stood in disbelief. _It's not over. Keelah, it's not over. They're letting us kill each other to make us weak._

"Yes. Selendis and Udun frequently did so." Legion said nothing more on the subject. "Last data packet … partial creator encryption."

Tali climbed to the last console, which lay upwards, almost to the ceiling. Her legs did not burn as she climbed. She only felt the headache, faint and throbbing, born of anxiety and fear. _Legion was right. We have to find this traitor. We have to expose them!_

"It has to be Aldaris," said Tali, struggling to find the most likely subject. "He finally got his separated protoss species like he always wanted. Kerrigan should have killed him."

"Inconclusive." Legion said nothing more, waiting for Tali to finish her climb. "Praetor Fenix is now within the xel'naga temple. Soon, the final deliberation will begin. Their minds are already made up. Only the Praetor will resist. We have only a little time remaining."

The last console was simplest of all. For whatever reason, the Broker had decided to use a cypher born partially of the Terminus, but mostly consisting of ancient quarian language used primarily in old religious texts. Unbreakable, maybe, to anyone who was not a quarian. But simple for one who was. _They never thought a quarian would see this. But … how would the Broker have got their hands on this language to begin with?_

"Finished." Tali stepped back. Legion began its translation. What Tali saw chilled her heart.

"Queen Regent: "Directorate and Daelaam strong, but unstable. Push one to topple both. Possible?" And the Broker replies…" Tali stared. "The Broker said: "Easy. Masking one's intentions by exposing a lesser distraction is simple but always effective. Can expose Shakuras publicly, Aiur privately to UED. Stukov will smell blood. Confirm?"" Tali looked up. "I … I heard her say that. Something close to it."

"Who, Creator Zorah?"

"The Matriarch," whispered Tali. _How? No. No, it makes sense. It makes sense if you accept that it's horrible, that she … that she's horrible. Why?_ "She exposed Shakuras to the galaxy to throw off suspicion. She leaked Aiur privately to make sure the UED would go for it. Shakuras was never in danger, not with the Culexus ready, and the Reapers would already know where it is anyway … where both homeworlds are." Tali's hands trembled. _Did we ever give her samples of our religious texts? No, we did. I know we did. Cultural exchange. They taught some of us Khalani._

"Shakuras relay opened at Matriarch request." Legion whirred and clicked. "Probably done out of curiosity. Encountered Reapers early. Made contact. Forged allegiance?" Legion paused. "Uncertain motivation. Nerazim agent involvement now explicable. Simply following orders of Matriarch. Not indoctrinated. Only loyal."

"She pushed for the collector base," said Tali, remembering. "Aldaris pushed against it … again, masking her intentions. Looking reasonable. And she … she had Selendis maimed. Took the data from Eden Prime. The one that could have made us all unite before too much damage could have been done. Selendis was attacked … right after leaving the Matriarch's office." _I thought she was my friend…_

That was a stupid sentiment, and Tali pushed against it, but it was hard not to feel the raw edge of betrayal in her gut. This kindly old protoss, the one who had welcomed the quarians on to their homeworld as if they were orphaned children, served the Reapers. _Could it have been anyone else?_ No. They had their list. It had to be the Matriarch, or someone they had not considered entirely. _And given the strict hierarchy of the Daelaam…_

"Matriarch Raszagal would have possessed all information that was leaked to the galaxy at large," said Legion. "She has command over the Nerazim. No High Templar ever walked in the Reaper's ranks. Matriarch Raszagal has not fought hard for Daelaam unity, citing the Nerazim shame and her personal doubt over her ability to control her people."

"Matriarch Raszagal would have had access to those quarian texts," said Tali, shutting her eyes. "Always ... she always treated us so kindly."

"We trusted the Prelate's judgment," said Legion. "He insisted it could not be her. The public leak of Shakuras seemed to reinforce this." _But it was a distraction._

"Wake me," said Tali, turning to the flickering hologram of Legion. "We need to get to the temple. Now."

Legion did not speak. Instead, Tali's head jerked … and then she sat blinking in a chair, her suit feeling uncomfortably filled with sweat. The ramp to the geth shuttle remained open, but slightly lighter morning air entered it, rather than the sickly twilight heralding the dark of Shakuras's true evening. Strong hands grasped her arms.

"Easy, ma'am." Kal'Reegar stood over her, smile visible under the mask. "You did it, then?"

"Reegar?" Tali tried to rise and only stumbled, but Reegar caught her until she regained her balance. "Why are you here?"

"Well, your father sent me, Tali," said Reegar. "Wondered where you were. Figured you just wanted some time to yourself, that you didn't like being forced to cling to him like a bubble-girl. So I went out. Saw the geth ship. Made a lucky guess. Then I uh, threatened Legion a little, and he explained it all."

"You didn't tell me any of this," said Tali accusingly, rounding on Legion, whose leg scraped again pitifully against the ground.

"We deemed it. Distracting."

"Anyway, he let me watch over you. Figured you were doin' good work, the best work you could possibly do. Told your dad I found you, but you wanted some time alone to say goodbye to Shakuras." Reegar shrugged. "Guess it paid off. So, who's the bosh'tet who sold us out?"

"The Matriarch," groaned Tali, but Reegar only shrugged again and retrieved his rocket launcher laying across the booths behind him.

"Of course it is. Nothing's sacred. Guess we better get to the temple, then." Reegar glanced to Legion. "Eh, you comin'? I don't fancy my odds against half a hundred pissed off protoss Nerazim or Khalai, and I figure you make the pitiful sad faces better than me. Might convince them we're pathetic enough to listen to instead of eviscerate."

"We. Will follow."

The temple loomed large in their vision. It was all Tali could do not to run, but she wanted Legion with her. She wanted them to see. See what they had done, together. _Quarian and geth. Creator and servant of the people, as it should have been from the start._

No one milled about the temple now, but the raised voices of Nerazim came from inside. Someone was speaking from the main chamber. Someone whose voice creaked with age and supposed wisdom.

"And I deeply regret that this day has come to pass, even more so given that one of the most cherished sons of Aiur has returned to us from the galaxy's heart," said Raszagal, her voice making Tali's stomach roil. "But I cannot name why the Nerazim strike against their brothers so. I cannot understand or prevent their actions. I cannot in good conscience say that our Khalai friends will remain safe working alongside the Dark Templar to reach a better future. For both our sakes and in honor of Hierarch Artanis who was so dishonorably slain, I cannot pretend I feel the continuation of the Daelaam Protectorate to be a sensible endeavor."

Praetor Fenix boomed something back, but Tali could not understand it. They entered the temple, Legion's leg scraping against the curious metal that comprised it. They passed the elevators that led them up to the top of the temple, from which so much of Shakuras could be seen, and stood before the massive doors. Fenix's voice still boomed from beyond.

"I slept, but now I wake!" He said, voice amplifying as Reegar and Tali pulled open the heavy golden doors and looked down upon the massive amphitheater. "I will not wake into a nightmare! Tassadar willed our people together, and created wonders through our combined knowledge. Artanis's dearest dream was to see our people united as Tassadar would have wanted, as we should have been from the start! I will not dissolve the Daelaam as my first action as an immortal! I will not!"

"Your Judicator wills it, Praetor, and rightly so." Raszagal's words. Some turned as Tali, Reegar, and Legion descended the steps. Raszagal stood to the right of Fenix whose bulk covered the entirety of the central podium. She stood surrounded by Nerazim, many clad in zerg armor and bearing vicious warp scythes. In the center of their little crush sat Zeratul, eyes bound, position of Prelate acknowledged by his presence … his shame acknowledged by his sightlessness. _He could not fathom his matriarch doing this. It led to him attacking the Judicator. Will this break him?_

"Tali!" Her father called out, waving from the small crowd of quarians. Tali's stomach became a nest of hungry worms, rolling and writhing. Her mouth ran dry. Too many protoss stared now, from all directions. Even Raszagal's gaze flicked towards them. _Now._

"Stop!" cried out Tali, in absence of anything to better to yell coming to mind. The temple quieted, in surprise if nothing else. "Stop. No more. The Daelaam must continue. We have found the traitor."

Zeratul's head turned. The Nerazim murmured to one another, although Tali did hear one or two grunts of laughter. She couldn't really blame them.

"Now the quarians point the finger?" asked Ulrezaj, standing at the forefront of the Matriarch's guard. "Do they think they can see something the Void's Children cannot? I find that unlikely."

"The old lack the sight of the young," replied Kythos cheekily, shining in the armor of the Khalai even as he bore a warp blade and stood among fellow Nerazim. He nudged Ulrezaj. "They miss the little things."

"Perhaps any accusations might be more appropriate during Zeratul's trial?" asked Raszagal, standing and raising her hands. "It might yet exonerate him." _Does she know?_ The old protoss's wizened face proved impossible to read. _Suspect, maybe. But I cannot risk waiting._

"He is not the one who requires exoneration, Matriarch," replied Tali, taking a step forward and staring directly into her eyes, trying to fight the urge to run, or sob with sheer _anger_ at what had been done. "You are the Shadow Broker. You are the traitor."

This time, outrage did sweep the temple. Nerazim stood from their seats and drew blades. Ulrezaj leapt forward, only to be pulled back by Kythos, who held him in place with effort. Matriarch Raszagal only steepled her fingers, staring at Tali over them. It took Praetor Fenix to dim the noise.

"Silence!" he bellowed, his already mighty voice amplified by the immortal battlesuit. "There will be no bloodshed within this temple! Tali – this accusation is serious. I hope you brought more evidence than my mistaken friend did."

"We have data." Legion limped towards Zeratul. "Sending. To Khala. Aiur. Will be. Informed."

"Magnificent machines," said Fenix with reverence, but the Nerazim remained silent, some hissing at Tali. "Yes – you have brought more decrypted files from the Broker's ship, as well as one of his extranet channels."

"The Shakuras Relay is open," said Tali, making Ulrezaj cease his struggling and sit up to stare at her. "The other side links close to the Broker's ship. The Matriarch is among the few who could authorize this." Tali paused as the hubbub came back, but died down as the Praetor again bellowed for silence, his guns turning threateningly on Nerazim. "Only Nerazim have been found in the ranks of the enemy. There was no taint of indoctrination … because they only followed the orders of their Matriarch."

"This is vile blasphemy!" shouted a Nerazim, and many roared in approval. Fortunately, Fenix could still roar louder. Two High Templar now floated overhead, their arms charged with energy. _Psionic storms don't spill blood after all…_

"Selendis's mutilating attack happened after she left the Matriarch's office," said Tali. "I know. I was there. She bore critical evidence that showed the collector attack at Eden Prime. That information would have been enough to drive the Daelaam to stop the Directorate and arrange unification early." _Or at least, attempt it._ "It was destroyed, and the Executor badly wounded."

Still roaring, still not enough evidence. Her father was shouting, trying to order her to stop lest she get herself killed … but Tali burned with a righteousness borne of far too many good men and women dying across the galaxy because of the Matriarch.

"The final document I found," yelled Tali, causing the last of the noise to die out. "The final document … the Shadow Broker, months after the collector base, told Majesty that it would be a simple thing to destroy the Directorate and Daelaam." Tali took in a deep breath. "It told Majesty that exposing a lesser distraction to allow a greater threat to go unnoticed was simply but always effective. Leak Shakuras publicly. Leak Aiur to the Directorate. She knew where the Directorate would go."

Tali looked around, expecting outrage. Instead, all looked to the matriarch … the one who had likely taught them that same lesson, however many centuries ago it might have been. _They recognize those words as well. And they realize … they realize that this just might be possible._

"Matriarch," rumbled Fenix, voice still yet trembling with unmistakable anger underneath. "These words bear some weight, and the situation is grave enough to warrant this request: meld with Karass. Dispel these foul accusations. Do not expose all secrets, only affirm your loyalty. Tell us – tell us this is not true."

Raszagal held her arms against her side. She stared hard at Tali for a few moments, and Tali wondered if she would suddenly meet her death here, in the temple, head exploded without warning by the angry matriarch. But instead the silence held. It lingered.

"I cannot," said Raszagal simply, and the temple exploded with shouting. Zeratul stood, joining in, and the quarians could only sit at the center of it all, watch and marvel at this elder species finally confronting the truth, the idea that one of their eldest and most respected had fallen to darkness.

"Why, Matriarch?" asked Zeratul, voice pleading. "Tell me you are innocent. And if you are not … why did you do this? Why did you seek to undo the work of myself and Tassadar, to bathe this galaxy in foul darkness?"

"I did only what was necessary for my people's survival," replied Raszagal, spreading her arms wide. "I feel no shame. I have no regret. And this changes nothing." She sounded sad.

"How could you?" bellowed Fenix. "Karass – take her, take her to the stasis tanks. The Judicator will judge her, and judge her harshly, as he should."

"Shame," cried out several Nerazim. "Shame and dishonor upon us, upon tribe and family, upon all our people! Shame and dishonor! Our Matriarch has betrayed us."

Raszagal and Karass vanished together in a flash of light, leaving the temple in an uproar. Rael'Zorah beamed at Tali from where he stood, and Kal'Reegar clapped her on the shoulder. But she was not done.

"Note that we accomplished this through unity," she said, projecting her voice with both throat and suit. The temple turned its attention on her once again. She extended a hand to Legion. "Two peoples, children of the same world, reunited for the sake of bringing justice. The caretakers bound by a mental link, who had violently ejected their fellow inhabitants, and the nomads who took to the stars in search of a new home. They came together to overcome the odds, despite centuries old hatred." Tali raised her arms.

"Do I speak of the quarians and geth, or the Khalai and Nerazim? Think carefully, my friends. Should the Daelaam fall?" Tali lowered her arms, and whispered, "keelah se'lai."

"I stand with the Daelaam," said Ulrezaj, brandishing his scythe.

"I stand with the Daelaam," echoed Kythos.

"I stand with the Daelaam!" bellowed countless others, standing, raising psi blades, stomping their feet.

"The Daelaam stands, and I stand with it!"

"Adun toredas! Khassar de templari!"

En taro Adun, en taro Tassadar, en taro Tali'Zorah!"

Tali'Zorah took a step back, grinned at the display. Legion limped next to her, glanced at her with what might have been anxiety.

"Did. Creator Zorah. Mean. What she said?"

"I did," said Tali, although privately she was still not certain. _Not everyone will see this the same way. Most quarians have not been saved repeatedly by geth … and no one but me has seen the Consensus._

They watched the chaos together, Tali beaming, Legion still acting somewhat odd, as if uncertain. As the Praetor boomed that the Daelaam would live, that the Reapers would be opposed by the protoss together until not a single protoss lived, Legion looked to her. She knew what he would say.

"Creator Zorah. Does this unit have a soul?"

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Epilogue**


	66. Duran

**Miranda**

The hologram hissed and fizzled without becoming solid, making Miranda wonder whether she was already outside Eden Prime's range. But, in just a few moments, her heart sang as the image crystalized … only to see Matt Horner wearing his right arm in a sling, rather than Jim Raynor.

"Matt," said Miranda, trying to contain her disappointment. "I'm glad to see you're okay."

"Miss Lawson!" Matt gave a cheery wave of his good arm. "I'm sure you wanted Jim, but he's asleep right now. I'm uh, I'm sure you too the time difference into effect, wherever you are…"

"I'm just about to punch through to Kahje, Matt," replied Miranda, prompting the younger captain's eyebrows to jump almost comically upwards. "I knew it was late, but I was just holding out hope…" She pursed her lips. _Don't feel so nervous. You came prepared._ "…well. I don't know when I will be in contact again." _Should I just ask him? It would be more polite, maybe, to ask him about his own troubles first …_ but really, what time did she have. "How is he?"

"He likes to call himself the "One-Legged Marshal," now," said Matt, and for some reason Miranda felt the urge to both laugh and cry. "Surgery is in less than a week. He's been in contact with Sarah Kerrigan, who's being held at the Citadel. He's trying to convince her that everything would be okay."

"Will it?" asked Miranda sharply. "It seems that when someone tries to assassinate an innocent councilor, everything should _not_ be okay."

"No argument here. But from what I can tell, she really seems to be suffering. Said she hadn't lost control like that since her parents…" Matt stopped, and then coughed into his hand. Miranda did not push any further. "We uh, we held a service for Tychus Findlay yesterday."

"Of all the people I've known, I'm not sure Tychus would have expected to ever have a funeral service." Miranda frowned, hoping that didn't sound callous. "I mean – I'm sure he always expected he'd die in an unmarked grave somewhere, and no one would visit. That doesn't sound callous, does it?"

"The man was a convicted criminal, a habitual drug user, a filthy womanizer, and a brute besides," said Matt, shrugging. "And that's my professional analysis. My personal one is not as rosy. But…"

"But he died in defense of Jim Raynor and his beliefs," finished Miranda, nodding to herself. "A bad man, maybe. But he died doing a good thing." _And the opposite applied to David Anderson, may his soul rest in peace._

"I cannot fault the manner of his death," said Matt. "I cannot contest that he may as well have died a hero, or something close to it. Even though if he had lived, I expect he would have asked for payment."

"Anyway – the surgery," said Miranda, getting back on track. "Dr. Rosenthal has been a habitual dust sniffer in the past, and I want to make doubly sure she's still clean. Can you do that for me?"

"Miranda-"

"The anesthesia used has a 1.1% chance of mortality or something else going wrong," said Miranda. "Tell Jim that, make sure he knows the risk is very low."

"Miranda-"

"And if I'm back before he undergoes his surgery, I want to inspect the hospital premises personally," finished Miranda. "I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who would like to kill my "One-Legged Marshal" and I don't intend to make it easy for them. I might be getting out of Cerberus, but that doesn't mean I won't put my training to good use."

"I – right, Miranda." Matt just nodded, cowed. Miranda smiled at him. "Remember, check on Dr. Rosenthal for me, would you?"

"I'm writing it down now," said Matt, and to his credit, he did actually activate his omnitool. _Rare, a man who means what he says when he claims he's listening. Jim doesn't even always do that._ "I could wake him up for you, if you want. Assuming I can dodge the first two things he throws at me, I think he'd be happy to hear from you."

"He needs his sleep. It's not just about my needs." Miranda paused, wondering if she'd ever said that before. Thought it, certainly. But it wasn't the kind of … thing … she'd felt the need to say out loud, at least that she could remember. "Jack. Is she alright?"

"Took it harder than I think even she expected to." Matt's eyes suddenly went downcast. "That was probably the worst part of the service, honestly. I think her and Xeltan always thought of Tychus as a mix of too strong and ultimately cowardly to really put himself in that kind of situation. Seemed a shock." Matt looked up, shrugged. "Jim gave a hell of a speech though. Got it recorded. You should have a watch when you get back."

"I will." Miranda looked back at the cockpit of her ship. _One last jump._ "I've found him, Matt. The man who claims to be Lieutenant Samir Duran. The surface of Kahje, which is shocking but … also somewhat expected. I have a warrant for his arrest, signed by all councilors, including the Judicator." Miranda leaned in. "The hanar have to let me through, or they risk the entire Citadel looking askance at them."

"And if you find him?" asked Matt, sounding a bit worried. Miranda looked past the hologram, at the sizable battlesuit behind it. "He's psionic, you're not."

"I've taken measures." Miranda smiled. "Cerberus has hunted down psionics before. They're always surprised when you greet them with unexpected resistance. With luck, however, I was hoping he'd come in quietly, like the rat he is."

"Well. Me too." Matt wringed his hands a little, and Miranda could only smirk at his anxiety. _I'll be okay. I'm not as harmless as people might think._ "Good luck, Miranda. Get back here, soon. Jim – he misses you. And his leg. It'd be nice to have them both back."

"Check Dr. Rosenthal," reminded Miranda for the third time, before tentatively flashing Matt a thumbs up. _Is that appropriate? Probably._ "I'll be back soon enough. And I'm sure I will have a story to tell."

Miranda deactivated the vidcom and returned to the cockpit. The mass relay danced across her various instruments, its enormous core of eezo lighting up a score of them. _Alright. Time to finish this._ She pre-emptively punched in the coordinates and engaged the thrusters, waiting for the relay to envelop her ship and send the request. Miranda counted off the seconds perfectly. The familiar whine of the mass relay filled her ears. _Alright, jellyfish. You cannot hide him any longer._

The ship abruptly came to a halt, and a line of strange, angular ships filled her instruments. The biggest hailed her immediately, and Miranda tried to summon outrage rather than anxiety. _Alright. Jellies. You can handle jellies._

"This one is known as Admiral Kiran," came the lilting, gentle voice through the radio. "We regret to inform you that hanar space is closed. Border violations will be met with certain sanctions on your ability to move or breathe."

"This is Miranda Lawson, Cerberus," replied Miranda, her voice a clap of indignant thunder. "I have a warrant for Lieutenant Samir Duran, signed by Councilors Udina, Sparatus, Livron, and Aldaris. He is wanted for questioning. I know he is down there."

"This one does not know anyone by that name," said the hanar, and Miranda smelled a half-truth there. _Infuriating._ "This one recommends Miranda Lawson turns back the way she came to maintain the integrity of her matter. Your vaporization would be unfortunate, but this one has orders."

"As do I," snapped back Miranda, holding position outside the relay. "Look – the Umojans tagged him. He's down there. I don't know what the Ascendancy is up to and it does not concern me outside of Samir Duran. Let me arrest him, and I will be on my way." _Well, arrest or kill. It does not matter._

For a time, no reply was forthcoming. Miranda waited, teeth gritted, fingers drumming against the console in front of her. _Would that I could read minds … although I hear the hanar are somewhat difficult for telepaths to deal with._ She suspected Duran did not have that problem.

"You have been granted permission," said Admiral Kiran finally, a hard warning edge to his voice. "Few outsiders have stepped on to Kahje or visited her depths. None have been invited to these chambers. Tread lightly, Cerberus _._ Violations will be met with extreme impoliteness."

 _God forbid the hanar utter mild profanity in my general direction._ Miranda rolled her eyes, but still thanked Kiran genuinely. The hanar admiral sent a set of landing coordinates on one of the few landmasses to her … and it was nowhere near any of the underwater settlements. _Odd. It's in the middle of the Enkindler's Sway. Are they trying to misdirect me?_

But no, checking the Umojan transponder turned Duran up as a faint blip at this unnamed and godforsaken landmass. _Does it even have a name? Has anyone besides Duran and a few soggy hanar ever visited this isle?_ She had a feeling she would soon find out. Her ship passed the line of military ships and began its plunge into hanar's roiling atmosphere.

 _Storms._ She had come prepared for storms, but the way the ship bucked and shook as she passed the atmosphere and ducked under the black and angry looking cloud layer still made her jaw set. The wind howled and moaned, and it sounded as if a thousand people now hammered their fingertips against the hull of the craft, trying to drive Miranda mad. But she only maintained a rigid grip on the stick and maintained course, wondering if she'd have to wrest control from the autopilot. After a few minutes of discomfort, however, it began to land.

 _Is there anywhere flat enough?_ Miranda bit her lip and scanned the ground, but the soaked volcanic rock had indeed, inexplicably, been cleared in a large flat square, replaced by a subtle layer of concrete, or some equivalent. The ship landed perfectly. _Well. That's the easy bit done with._

Miranda turned off the controls and linked the Umojan transponder to her omnitool. Then she strode back into cargo, ran the last checks on her Witchhunter suit. _Aquatic capabilities functional … psi screens uncracked and undamaged … concussion launchers loaded and operational._

Miranda turned around and stepped backwards into the suit, which locked around her and loaded instruments. _Rangefinder, structural integrity detection, enhanced motion detection …_ _check, check, and check._ Miranda smiled to herself. _Flamethrower and incendiary grenades loaded. Machine gun loaded. Aim assist program active…_

As Jack Harper had once said, "If you have to hunt down a rogue psionic, it is best to do it properly." So had the Witchhunter suit come into being, the best option for those who could not meet crazed ghosts on their own level. Bullets would bounce off, telepathy could be ignored behind the psi screens, EMPs and lockdown rounds had no effect on the hardened hardwire and nuclear reactor. As for telekinetics, Jack Harper's design had opted to counter that by simply making the suit very, very heavy. _So unless you are Nova or Sarah Kerrigan…_

The first thing Miranda did after the suit check was activate the heating. With warm air blasting her face, everything started to feel all right again. At a punch of her omnitool, the rear of the ship opened, and the howl of the wind became a ghastly shriek. Miranda activated the headlights, bringing blazing beams into the screaming night, and took her first ponderous steps on to the surface of Kahje.

The stone felt reassuringly firm under foot. Miranda rounded the side of her ship and took in her surroundings. All around her, only the roiling black of the crazed sea, deeper than she'd care to contemplate. Behind her, the ship. And past the ship … a small lip of rock, descending into darkness. She checked her omnitool. _So. Duran has holed himself up in a cave._ For some reason, that made her giggle a little. _A crazed hermit hiding in the middle of a raging sea … it feels so appropriate, somehow._

Fortunately for her, the cave entrance looked more than large enough for her bulky suit. _Hell, even an ultralisk would be able to enter no problem._ The darkness below was broken only be the cold blue glow of what Miranda suspected was either a hanar flare equivalent or perhaps some kind of fungus, but it was irrelevant given the Witchhunter's headlights and night vision capabilities. She took a deep breath and began the descent, only stopping at a sudden whir of motion.

"Ms. Lawson," came a voice, thick and throaty. She looked down to find a drell suddenly standing below her, arms folded behind his back. "We have not met, though I am an acquaintance of some of your countrymen. I am Thane Krios."

"You were at the collector base," said Miranda, staring down at this drell, tiny dwarfed by the ten foot frame of the suit. "You fought at Jim's side."

"Yes. He proved himself an able fighter that day." Thane inclined his head. "I was sent to tell you that you are on the right path. Soon you will stand in the inner sanctum, the most prized chamber of the hanar peoples. I must ask you to treat its resident with courtesy."

"Do I look like I came here with courtesy in mind?" asked Miranda, lifting a heavy arm, laden with hidden weapons. "I came here to make an arrest."

"Be that as it may, tread lightly. This is hallowed ground." To Miranda's surprise, Thane only parted to the side and bowed. He did not vanish, not that it would have done him much good. She considered asking the drell further questions, but he did not look apt to respond. _And he's not the one I am interested in._

The way ahead grew dark and winding, leading down and only further down. Water fell gently from the ceiling and into smaller puddles below, the rivulets running down the Witchhunter's visor. Miranda licked her lips, peering through the beams of light, trying to determine the ultimate end point. Her omnitool only told her to descend further.

The already wide passageway widened further as her omnitool pinged, indicating Duran's closeness. Miranda's breathing accelerated, and her heart began to pound with a mix of anticipation and raw anxiety. Light shone from the end of the tunnel now, and soon she would know Duran for who he truly was. _Why do the hanar shelter him like this? Who is he?_

Miranda emerged into a vast box of some kind of transparent material. Not glass, obviously. The pressure would have been too great. The black water surrounded it, the light from above too thin and weak to reach these depths. Hanar, swarms of them, knifed through the water, surrounding this strange cube, their bodies glowing with many lights, their soft voices calling out something her translator could not understand. Miranda's brain could still pick up patterns, however. _They're singing._

It did not take long for Miranda to discover the object of their worship. At the center of the cube, below the enormous yellow light that illuminated the entirety of this strange theatre, sat a vast tank of bubbling liquid, its contents green and seething. Miranda's suit detected motion from it, but she could see nothing within it. Duran temporarily forgotten, Miranda drew closer. The singing increased in volume and intensity.

The tank stood about two or three feet taller than Miranda's suit. The console looked unfamiliar, and strange yellow crystals lay jammed into its side, powering it somehow. Miranda looked it up and down. After a few moments, a few bubbles cleared. She saw what lay within.

It was … chitinous, its skin ridged with hard material, like a zergs. It bore multifaceted eyes, but its face tapered off the same way a protoss's did. Thick limbs tapped against the glass lightly as it stirred in its enforced sleep, terminating in sharp claws. The air hummed with power, and Miranda could not help but feel a chill as her quivering eyes met with the creature's inactive ones. _Can it see me? What is this? What_ is _this?_

"Magnificent, isn't it?" said a melancholy voice. Miranda turned quickly, weapons drawn. Duran stood there, unarmed, hands at his sides. He did not even lift them at Miranda's pointed guns.

"Duran," said Miranda simply, her journey coming to an end at last. She licked her lips, mind reeling with questions. "What … what is this?"

"It is a chamber built long ago to house true friends of the hanar," replied Duran simply. "I am honored to be the last among that number. I have slept here in the past for … great spans in time. Of late, it has also been used to store the specimen behind you."

"The specimen?" Miranda turned again to the creature, the abomination that drifted dreaming in the tank. "What the bloody hell is that thing?"

"Valerian Mengsk encountered one on Kessel. Did you ever speak to him about it?" Duran's lips grew thin. He had not smiled once. "A protoss's psionic might and thinking ability. A zerg's viciousness and adaptability. Twisted together, to produce the ultimate weapon against the Reapers. The xel'naga named it hybrid, my last resort for the last war."

"A protoss-zerg hybrid." Miranda's initial inclination was to laugh in Duran's face, but she saw the features of both in that wretched creature. "The xel'naga … they were precursors, correct? Like the protheans."

"They lived a long time before the protheans, Miss Lawson," said Duran, arms now folded behind his back. He gestured to the tank. "This one was one of the first created, one of the few to be named. He is called Maar, and he originally made his home on Eden Prime. The activity of the ITSA necessitated a move here."

 _The sanctified ruins._ Miranda had always wondered just what the hanar did to the prothean ruins to somehow make them fit for terran "pollution." _They were just worried about this … thing's … discovery. No, how can this all be true? This is mental._ But frankly, her surroundings were mental.

"It is one of many scattered across the worlds, Miranda," said Duran sadly. "The last resort for the last war. To battle these devils, I must summon demons. I did my best to sway the galaxy towards correct courses of action, to even sway Stukov with visions of his love … but the Reapers hold sway over all."

"We've won," said Miranda shortly. "Jim and the others – they destroyed the point of entry. The Reapers are locked out. They acknowledged defeat. It's over."

"I know you don't really believe that, Miss Lawson. It's simply a comforting lie you tell yourself." Duran shut his eyes. "Perhaps the galaxy has bought itself some time. A decade, a century, a millennia. The Reapers are eternal. They can wait a little longer. And in that span of time, the hard-won battles fought this past year will become history. Then legend. Then perhaps myth. And then one day, when the protoss have fully waned and everyone else has forgotten … they will strike." Duran clenched his fist and held it before him. "And I will not be there to see it, to stop it. I am out of time, Miranda. If they would try to wait out the resistance, then I must start a fire so great, they must come running to put it out." Duran gazed at the hybrid. "These hybrid … they will start such a fire."

"Who are you, Duran?" asked Miranda, her skin crawling with a sudden, inevitable realization. "You wear the skin of a man … but you are not human, are you?"

"I am not." Duran's confirmation sent a chill down Miranda's spine. "There is no point denying anything any longer. I have worn many faces and many names, Miranda Lawson of Cerberus. Why do you think it was so difficult to track me down? I change shapes as easily as you change clothes, easier in fact. It takes a good deal less time. Duran is only one of them." He paused. "A … favored one, to be fair. Wearing this face, I have met such good company as yourself and Jim Raynor. I have met many protoss. Honorable beings, all."

"And what are you going to do?" Miranda's hands gripped the controls of her suit tightly, her knuckles slickened by sweat.

"I intend to steal the Citadel," replied Duran simply. "Then I will set the hybrid loose. They replenish their numbers through the absorption of zerg and protoss biomaterial. We do not lack for the former, at least. I will notify the Reapers. And then…" Duran breathed in heavily. "…and then we will at last match the last legacy of the xel'naga against the might of those infernal beings. At last, even in defeat, I will see them shattered across countless worlds. This cycle will break them, one way or another." His voice shook. "I will see them _burn._ "

"So you're going to draw them out before they are forgotten." It did not sound like the worst of plans, even if it was being executed by this … thing. "You could have notified all governments. Acquired their assistance."

"The protoss would see these beings purged, and rightfully so." Duran looked away, looking ashamed. "I … this is unfortunate but … the protoss are of more use to me for their biomaterial than they are for their fleets and armies. There has been too much damage, and the Reapers now have access to the Culexus. By becoming hybrid, they become far more powerful than they would be if left alone." Duran's jaw set. "There may have to be other sacrifices as well, if the war drags on. There can be no total victory, Miranda. I did not want to do this. Some races will have to feed the xel'naga's last fire. Would that Liara had come with me … her biomaterial would have greatly enhanced the hybrid strains."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Miranda.

"Because there is nothing left to hide. And because I would have you tell Jack Harper to assist me." Duran threw his hands wide. "He is a pragmatic man with no desire to see his species turn extinct. He will understand. He will persuade Valerian. Sacrifice a few for the sake of saving the rest, or instead lose all. The Reapers cannot be stopped by less."

"And what would Jim Raynor say about that?" asked Miranda. To her surprise, Duran actually took a step back.

"I am … glad that the galaxy can contain such men as him." Duran bowed his head. "But in the war to come, there may be no place for his views any longer. He still believes in honor … but stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls, Miranda, and ask them if honor matters." Duran's voice shook, and he stared at Miranda with eyes full of pain. "Their silence is your answer."

"So it's another mad scheme that will kill billions for the greater good, is that it?" Miranda laughed a bitter laugh. "More Tarsonises, more Korhals. And you know the other governments will not accept this. You will set the Reapers on them so that the only option will be to turn to you. To turn to your hybrid."

"I do not deny it." Duran folded his arms. "I swore to Jim Raynor that I would not harm you, Miranda, and I meant what I said. I do not sense the same good intentions from you."

The hanar's song loudened, the chanting reaching some kind of chorus.

"Do you intend to come quietly Duran, or whoever you are?" Miranda's grip on her weapons tightened. "Are you willing to tell the galaxy of your intentions?"

"They will know once the Citadel is mine." Duran did not move. "And I cannot go with you, Miranda. Forgive me."

"I'm not the one who needs forgiveness."

Duran disappeared in a haze of green light as the concussion grenade burst, the light flaring and then smoking at the point of impact. The hanar's chanting grew louder, and some beat against the outside of the cube as if it were a drum. Miranda turned, following the motion indicator. Duran crouched against the ground, hands glowing green. He cloaked, but Miranda only grinned.

"Shines-Upon-Waters! Do not interfere! I would not see you harmed. Ready the ships and alert Alarak!" Duran span and twisted, dodging the machine gun fire Miranda sent his way, the heavy bullets bouncing crazily off the metal ground and floors. "Tell him to bring the worldships here, before Kahje at last!"

 _So a fleet will gather above._ Escape seemed unlikely, then. But all that mattered was making sure that this madman was not able to enact his plans going forward. Miranda sent a volley of incendiary grenades. Duran again somehow dashed out of the way with a flicker of green, leaving the raging inferno behind.

"I do not wish to hurt you, Miranda!" cried out Duran. "Activate floor bulkhead, six."

Miranda did not know what that meant, but did not let up on the weaponry. Duran ducked and rolled, even literally backflipped out of the way of her grenades and bullets. When pinned, he would charge elsewhere, using that same strange green telekinetic charge. To Miranda's left, the floor opened to reveal a shimmering shield. Beneath, the still black waters were held back only by a thin membrane. The hanar roiled and churned beneath, glowing red, their voices booming at a bass Miranda did not think possible.

Duran stopped, panting, clutching his side as his hands glowed green. Miranda leveled a concussion grenade and fired it. Duran flicked it aside with an emerald hand.

"You came prepared, Miss Lawson," he said, voice pained. "But I cannot … I cannot let my word doom the galaxy. Please … just walk away from here."

"After what I've seen?" Miranda shook her head. "I'm sorry Duran, or whoever you are. You either come quietly with me, or you die here."

"Heh." Duran looked away. "You are among the few I can say I respect, especially now. Still, I had hoped you would see reason." Duran's voice dropped, turning from familiar and amiable to low and threatening. "Primitive."

Miranda fired two incendiary grenades, but then staggered back as Duran blurred and rushed forward in green. He slammed into Miranda with force, driving her left. _What? Telekinetics?_ But the readouts did not indicate any burst of psi energy. She slammed a fist down where Duran once stood, and he ducked nimbly aside, firing two more bursts of green from his hands. Miranda's suit shook and she was forced backwards, the force too much. _No … biotics. He has biotics._

Miranda brought her other fist around in a sweeping arc and clipped Duran's shoulder. He screamed in an alien voice and spun around, almost falling to his feet. But he lifted his other arm and let loose a shockwave of green, one that actually lifted Miranda from her feet.

She slammed back hard in her harness, and her suit slid on the ground, one leg falling through … into the water.

The hanar screamed, and strong appendages, stronger than even Miranda would have guessed, grabbed her ankle, dragging her down. Miranda braced her other leg against what was left of the space between her and the ocean, but already it scraped backwards. She screamed, kneeling over and placing her hands against the floor, trying to create any kind of resistant friction. Duran stood over her. When she looked up, tears ran from his face.

"I am compelled not to harm you, Miranda," said Duran. "The hanar are not. I must not be stopped. My word is honored, meaningless as that is."

Miranda laughed madly, her other leg at the edge of the water now. She spat against the visor of her suit.

"I expected better, Duran."

"You deserved better." Duran looked down at her, reaching out … and then letting his hand fall by his side. Miranda freed one of her own hands and fired wildly, but Duran simply moved out of the firing angle. Miranda's other foot splashed into the water, and she slid further, holding herself above the water only by her hands. She grunted as the suit warnings went up, as the hanar lashed at the underside of her suit with their tentacles, seeking weakness. _No. This cannot … no!_

"Fuck you, Duran," snarled Miranda, for lack of anything better to say. She would not submit, and there was no point in lying.

"As a final courtesy, you may as well go to your death knowing the name and face of your enemy." Duran shrugged, the tears rolling down dark cheeks. "I … I will miss this face."

Duran lifted his hand before his eyes and moved it down to his chin. His face shifted, his entire body shimmering before Miranda's eyes. The hanar went insane, some of them bellowing in English.

"The Enkindler!"

"The Enkindler shows his face!"

"Lo, and look! The visage of the Amon, the Avatar of Vengeance!"

The hanar writhed in religious ecstasy while Miranda only looked on in confusion. The red beret became a strange mushroom crest, the brown eyes turned to two sets of yellow with double pupils. The ghost power armor turned to strange red armor, thick and ornate, the dark skin turning instead to pale whites and browns, reminiscent of a salarian's in consistency. The being once known as Duran smiled sadly, exposing fanged teeth.

"I am the Amon, the Avatar of Vengeance, God Slayer and Enkindler." The being known as Duran frowned heavily, staring down at Miranda with a mixture of anger and shame. "But … at my birth, I was given the name of Javik. I am the last of the protheans."

"Duran," murmured Miranda, only one arm keeping her above the water now, her suit twinging with too many warnings, the hanar swarming in greater and greater numbers. Javik's face contorted.

"Duran." He turned away, his last words echoing through Miranda's head as she finally submerged completely.

"My name is not Duran."

* * *

 **A/N: Never thought we'd get here, honestly. But here we are.**

 **First, a humble request not to spoil the twist at the end here in the reviews. It requires a good bit of knowledge of both Mass Effect and StarCraft to make sense of, as well as having fully read both stories. Having that out there as a "It Was His Sled" thing would ruin a good bit of work on behalf of both the reader and the author.**

 **Anyway, wow. This was a challenge to write, and I think it became a real challenge to read towards the end. At least the pace increased. I vowed to finish this before the New Year, and to my surprise I actually came through. Thank you for sticking with this.**

 **A few thanks: thank you to CuriousStranger, who provided excellent feedback and actually guessed the twist a few days before this last chapter came out. A big thank you to Kaoupa and NewAgeofPower for their behind the scenes work. I will need your guys' help with hybrid and Reaper forces before the end. There will be more than two variations of hybrids for this fic, I assure you.**

 **A thank you to TDK132, who is still busy translating this monster into Korean. I cannot believe the work he is putting in to both translate this fic into Korean and the reviews back into English. Thank you.**

 **Thank you to regular readers such as ADarkOne, TheLonliestMonk, Prime 2.0, KlondikeBar, and Chunq. You guys have all been great, and I hope you've enjoyed this.**

 **I'm going to take a break from this series now, for a while. Keep an eye on my profile, I'm going to experiment with one or two other fics for a bit before coming back to this. For Sudden Terminus: less length, fewer POVs, straightforward plot, better pace of writing. Sudden Supremacy was a bit too ambitious, I think, so the last story will be relatively simple in comparison, more like Sudden Contact.**

 **Anyway, that's all there is to say, really. I'm astounded this got done. Thank you for sticking with this. Have a wonderful New Year.**

 **And rest in peace, Carrie Fisher. Fuck 2016.**


	67. We have reached the Terminus

Sudden Terminus has been published and is, at this time, two chapters in.

Go on, then. Shoo!


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